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Human Nature.
BOOK III. FT
+ 06 Roa RAL . -%,
PART = ©
Of Firtue and Vice in general. „
8 E C T. I.
Moral Diftintions not deriv'd from Raab "4
HERE is an inconvenience $ ECT.
which attends all abſtruſe rea- I.
ales ſoning , that it may filence,
238 Sore without convincing an antago-
niſt, and 8 ſame Intenſe Aude 40.
Vor. II. a make
2 "" £ Fred iſe of Human Wature.
ParT. — 5 us ſenſible of its force, that was at
I. firſt requiſite for its invention. When we
—— pi
Of virtue leave our cloſet, and engage in the common
and vice
rug Set affairs of life, its concluſions ſeem to vaniſh,
like the phantoms of the night on the ap-
pearance of the morning; and tis difficult
for us to retain even that conviction, which
we had attain'd with difficulty. This is-
ftill more conſpicuous in a long chain of
reaſoning, where we muſt preſerve to the
end the evidence of the firſt propoſitions,
and where we often loſe fight of all the
molt receiv'd maxims, either of philoſophy
or common life. Iam not, however, with-
out hopes, that the preſent ſyſtem of phi- |
loſophy will acquire new force as it ad-
vances ; and that our reaſonings concerning
morals will corroborate whatever has been
faid concerning the underſtanding and the
paſſions. Morality is a ſubject that intereſts
us above all others: We fancy the peace of
| ſociety to be at ſtake in every deciſion con-
cerning it; and tis evident, that this concern
muſt make our ſpeculations appear more real
and folid, than where the ſubject is, in a
„ meaſure, indifferent to us. What
affects us, we conclude can nevet be a chi-
mera; and as our paſſion is engag d on the
one ſide or the” other, we tiaturally 3
*
Book III. \ | |
that the queſtion lies within human compre- S ECT.
Dy 07 5 Morals. * 5 Y
henſion ; which, in other caſes of this na-
ture, we are apt to entertain ſome doubt of. Moral ao
Without this advantage I never ſhould have ,,
ventur'd upon a third volume of ſuch ab- 2 rea-
ſtruſe philoſophy, in an age, wherein the /**
greateſt part of men ſeem agreed to convert
reading into an amuſement, and to reject
every thing that requires any conſiderable
degree of attention to be comprehended. *
Ir has been obſery'd, that nothing is ever
preſent to the mind but its perceptions; and
that all the actions of ſeeing, hearing, judg-
ing, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under
this denomination. The mind can nevet
exert itſelf in any action, which we may .
not comprehend under the term of perception;
and conſequently that term is no leſs appli-
cable to thoſe judgments, by which we
_ diſtinguiſh moral good and evil, than to
every other operation of the mind. To 17.
prove of one character, to condemn ano-
ther, are only ſo many different perceptions.
Now as perceptions reſolve theinſelves
into two kinds, viz. impreſfions and ideuis,
this diſtinction gives riſe to a queſtion, with
which we ſhall open up our preſent enquiry
5 Whether tis by means of
B2 our
7 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART our ideas or impreſſions abe diſtinguiſb *
I. twixt vice and virtue, and pronounce an
Of wireee action blameable or praiſe-worthy ? This will
au vi immediately cut off all looſe difcourſes and
gene,, qeclamations, and reduce us to ſomething
pteciſe and exact on the preſent ſubject.
Tuosk who affirm that virtue is nothing
but a conformity to reaſon ; that there are
| eternal fitneſſes and unfitneſſes of things,
which are the ſame to every rational being
that conſiders them; that the immutable
meaſures of right and wrong impoſe an ob-
ligation, not only on human creatures, but
alſo on the Deity himſelf : All theſe ſyſtems
concur in the opinion, that morality, like
truth, is diſcern'd merely by ideas, and by
their juxta-poſition and compariſon, In or-
der, therefore, to judge of theſe ſyſtems,
we need only conſider, whether it be poſſible,
from reaſon. alone, to diſtinguiſh betwixt
moral good and evil, or whether there muſt
concur ſome other principles to enable us to
make that diſtinction.
Ir morality had naturally no influncs.4 on
human paſſions and actions, twere in vain
to take ſuch pains to inculcate it; and no-
thing wou d be more fruitleſs than that mul-
titude of rules and precepts, with which all
moraliſts abound. * is commonly
0 divided
c
1
8
Trg 58
often
cluſions of our reaſon.
of this inference; nor is there any other
Bock III. of Morals. 5 42
divided into ec and lips and as SECT,
morality is always comprehended under the I.
latter diviſion, tis ſuppoſed to influence our —
paſſions and actions, and to go beyond the finZion |
calm and indolent judgments of the under- from rea-
ſtanding, And this is confirm'd by common
experience, which informs us, that men are
govern'd by their duties, and are de- |
ter'd from ſome actions by the opinion of ö
injuſtice, and impell'd to others by that of
obligation.
SINCE morals, bir have an in-
fluence on the actions and affections, it fol-
lows, that they cannot be deri d from reaq-
ſon; and that becauſe reaſon alone, as we
have already prov'd, can never have any ſuch |
influence. "Morals excite paſſions, and pro-
duce or prevent actions. Reaſon of itſelf is
utterly impotent in this particular. The
rules of morality, therefore, are not con-
Neo one, I believe, will deny . jultnel
means of evading it, than by denying that
principle, on which it is founded. As long
as it is allow d, that reaſon has no influence
on our paſſions and actions tis in vain to
pretend, that morality is diſcover d only by
a 666 of reaſon. An active principle
B 3 can
\
6 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART can never be founded on an inactive; and
I. if reaſon be inactive in itſelf, it muſt remain
Of ain | ſo in all its ſhapes and appearances, whether
and vice it exerts itfelf in natural or moral ſubjects,
general Yhether it conſiders the powers of external
bodies, or the actions of rational beings.
Ir would be tedious to tepeat all *
arguments, by which I have prov'd, * that
reaſon is perfectly inert, and can never either
prevent or produce any action or affection.
"Twill be eaſy to recollect what has been
ſaid upon that ſubject. I ſhall only recal
on this occaſion one of theſe arguments,
which I ſhall endeavour. to render ſtill more ;
concluſive, and more ab to the *
ſent ſubject. en 7
REASON is the 8 of 5 or
falſhood. Truth or falſhood conſiſts io an
agreement or diſagreement either to the real
relations of ideas, or to real exiſtence and
matter of fact. Whatever, therefore, is not
ſuſceptible of this argeement or diſagreement,
is incapable of being true or. falſe, and can
never be an object of our reaſon. Nom tis
evident our paſſions, vplitions, and actions,
are not ſuſceptible. of any ſuch agreement or
« diſagreement ; ; being original facts and reali-
ties, com . in themſelves, and hes
ler © * Book II. Part III. Sect. 3. *
5
1
1 . . 4
; wy | L | 59
Bock III. O/ Moral. 7
PIN eee volition? and 8 E CT.
actions. Tis impoſſible, therefore, they can =
be pronounced either true or falſe, and be af
— — J Hine —
Tus argument is of double advantage to from rea-
our preſent purpoſe. For it proves direct iy, Hos.
that actions do not derive their merit from a
conformity to reaſon, nor their blame from
a contrariety to it; and it proves the fame
truth more indirefly, by ſhewing us, that
as reaſon can never immediately prevent or
produce any action by contradicting or ap-
| proving of it, it cannot be the ſource off, He Ame
moral good and evil, which are found to {erm +
have that influence. Actions may be lauda-
ble or blameable ; but they cannot be reaſon-
able or unreaſonable : Laudable or blameable,
therefore, are not the ſame with reaſonable
or unreaſonable. The merit and demerit of £
actions frequently contradict, and ſometimes
controul our natural propenſities. But rea-
ſon has no ſuch influence. Moral diſtinctions,
therefore, are not the offspring of reaſon.
Reaſon is wholly inactive, and can never be
— a6 EP
ſcience, or a ſenſe of morals,
Bur perhaps it may be ſaid; that tho no
will or action can be immediately contra- |
mn :
| B 4 contradiction
J & £46 Eo ef tantadbbes
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$ A Treatiſe of Human Mate:
Pax x contradiction in ſome of the attendants of
I 9 the action, that is, in its cauſes: or effects.
5 N. The action may cauſe a judgment, or may
par be obliquely caus d by one, when the judg-
5 ment concurs with a paſſion; and by an
abuſive way of 3 which philoſophy
will ſcarees allow of, the ſame contrariety
may, upon that. account, be aſcrib'd to the
action. Ho far this truth or fal may
be the ſource of morals, "twill now 1
. to conſider.
= eln n cl; t a is;
n | vie and philoſophical ſenſe, can have: an
influence on our conduct only after two
ways: Either when it excites a paſſion by
informing us of the exiſtence of ſomething
which is a proper object of it; or when it
diſcovers the connexion of cauſes and effects,
ſo as to afford us means of -exerting any
paſſion, Theſe. are the only kinds of judg-
ment, which can accompany our actions, or
can be ſaid to produce them in any manner;
and it muſt be allow'd, that theſe judgments.
may often be falſe and erroneous. A perſon
may be affected with paſſion, by ſuppoſing a
pain or pleaſure to lie in an object, which
has no tendency to produce either of theſe
ſenſations, or which produces the contrary
fo what is imagin d, A perſon may =
27
J f
Beek n of "Morals:
*
1 N
F 4 &
—
take falſe meaſures for —
which are connetted wick chem, and n
be ſaid to render them unteaſonable, in a
But tho this be acknowledg d, tis eaſy to
obſerve, that theſe errors are ſo far from be-
| ing the ſource of all immorality, that they
are commonly very innocent, and draw no
manner of guilt upon the perſon ho is o
unfortunate as to fall into them. They ex-
tend not beyond a miſtake of fact, which
nal, as being perfectly involuntary. | I am
more to be lamented than blam'd, if I am
jects in producing pain or pleaſure, or if I
know not the proper means of ſatisfying my
deſires. No one can ever regard ſuch errors
as a defect in my moral character. A fruit;
for inſtance, that is really difagreeable, my |
pears to me at a diſtance, andithro? miſtake
I fancy it to be pleaſant and delicious. Here
is one error. I chooſe: certain means of
reaching this fruit, which are not proper for
. IR Here ig a cond error; nor is there
any
figurative and improper way of | ſpeaking, ·
and may retard by his foolifhi.condu8, n- I.
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10
A Treatiſeof Human Natur. ©
55 Pax v any third one, which can ever poſſibhly enter
8 *
into our reaſonings concerning actions. I
Of virtue ak, therefore, if a man, in this ſituation,
2 VICE
in general,
and guilty of theſe two errors, is to be re-
garded as vicious and criminal, however un-
avoidable they might have been? Or if it be
poſſible to imagine, that ſuch errors _—
ſources of all immorality? Bre 3 It
Ap here tidy: bi-peaperido-'oliferrs;
that if moral diſtinctions be deriv'd from the
truth or falſhood of: thoſe judgments, they
muſt take place wherever we form the judg-
ments; nor will there be any difference, whe-
ther the queſtion be concerning an apple or
a kingdom, or whether the error be avoid-
able or unavoidable- For as the very eſ-
ſence of morality is ſuppos d to conſiſt in an
agreement or diſagreement to reaſon, the
other circumſtances are entirely arbitrary, and
can never either beſtow on any action the
character of virtuous or vicious, or deprive
it of that character. To which we may add,
that this agreement or diſagreement, not ad-
e of degrees, all virtues and vices
wou'd of courſe be equal. le
\Strov'D: it be pretended, that tho a mi-
ſtake of fact be not criminal, yet a miſtake
of r:ght often is; and chat this may be the
ſource: of immorality: I would anſwer, that
Nas ; p 'tis
% 7 *.
Bock m. Of Moral. mo"
n * SECT |
original ſource of immorality, fince it ſuppoſes BD 0
areal right and wrong; that is, a real di- N
ſtinction in morals, independent of - theſe ie
| judgments. A miſtake, therefore, of -right Bs aa.
ä may become a ſpecies of immorality; but .
i „ ry ee
ſome other, antecedent to it.
As to thoſe judgments which are > the ef-
fetts of our actions, and which, when falſe,
give occaſion' to pronounce” the actions con-
trary to truth and reaſon; we may obſerve,
that our actions never cauſe any judgment, |
either true or falſe; in ourſelves, and that tis
only on others they have ſuch an influence.
- 'Tis certain, that an action, on many occa-
ſions, may give riſe to falſe. concluſions in ;
others; and that a perſon, who thro a win- -
dow ſees any lewd behaviour of mine with |
my neighbour's wife, may be ſo ſimple as to
imagine ſhe is certainly my own. In this re-
ſpect my action reſembles ſome what a lye or
falſhood ;- only with this difference, which is
material, that I perform not the action with
any intention of giving riſe to a falſe judg -
ment in another, but merely to ſatisfy my
luſt and paſſion. It cauſes, however, a mi-
ſtake and falſe judgment by accident; and
* of its s effects * be aſcribed,
by.
8 . K n N K. 8 5 7 * a ©. 3h ae
*
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12 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pax T by ſome odd figurative way of ſpeaking, to
I. the action itſelf. But ſtill I can fee no pre-
obs tert of reaſon for aſſerting, that the tenden-
and vice cy to cauſe ſuch an error is the firſt ſpring or
— 2
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original ſource of all immorality * _
Tu vs upon the whole, tis impoſſible, that
the diſtinction betwixt moral good and evil,
: - WED Eats
| N 8 nene
2 One might think it were entirely ſuperfluous to prove
this, if {Ra Gathor: who has had — good fortune to ob-
tain ſome reputation, had not ſeriouſly affirmed, that ſuch a
falſhood is the foundation of all guilt and moral deformity.
That we may diſcover the fallacy of his hypotheſis, we need
only conſider, that a falſe concluſion ſis drawn from an action,
only by means of an obſcurity of natural principles, which
bro foe akes a cauſe be ſecretly interrupted in its operation, by con-
trary cauſes, and renders the connection betwixt two obj
uneertain and variable. Now, as a like uncertainty and va-
riety of cauſes take place, even in natural objects, and pr
duce a like error in our judgment, if that tendency to produce
error were the very eſſence of vice and immorality, it ſhou'd
allows that even inanimate objects might be vicious and im-
moral. | | . £6
- 'Tis in vain to urge, that inanimate objects act without li-
berty and choice. For as liberty and choice are not neceſſary
to make an action produce in us an erroneous conclaſton, they
can be, in no reſpect, eſſential to morality '; and I do not
readily perceive, upon this ſyſtem, how they can ever come
to be regarded by it. If the tendency to cauſe error be the
origin of immorality, that tendency and immorality wou'd in
every caſe be inſeparable. Ee ns
Add to this, that if I had uſed the of hy |
the windows, while I indulg'd myſelf in thoſe liberties wi
my neighbour's wife, 1 ſhould have been guilty of no immo-
rality ; and that becauſe my action, being perfectly conceal'd,
wou'd have had no tendency to produce any falſe concluſion.
For the ſame reaſon, a thief, who ſteals in by a ladder at a
window, and takes all imaginable care to cauſe no diſturbance,
is in no reſpect criminal. For either he will not be perceiv'd,
or if he be, tis impoſſible he can produce any error, nor will
any one, from theſe circumſtances, take him to be other than
what he really is. | Tis
4
Bock III. Of Sed oY ot.
can be made by reaſon ; ſince that diſtinetion 8 x e
has an influence upon our actions, of which I.
reaſon alone is incapable. Reaſon and judg- 22
ment may, indeed, be the mediate cauſe of rien,
| 5 1 not deri
an action, by prompting, or by directing 1 rea-
"Tis well known, that thoſe who are ſquint-ſighted, do very
readily cauſe miſtakes in others, and 3 ſa-
lute or are talking to one perſon, while they ad ves
to another. Are they therefore, upon that account, immoral ?
Beſides, we may eaſily obſerve, that in all thoſe ——
there is an evident reaſoning in a circle. A perſon who takes
poſſeſſion of another's goods, and uſes them as his own, in a
manner declares them to be his own ; and this falſhood is the
ſource of the immorality of injuſtice. But is property, or
right, or obligation, intelligible, without an antecedent mora-
lity ?
A man that is ungrateful to his benefator, in a manner af-
firms, that he never received any favours from him. But in
what manner? Is it becauſe tis his duty to be grateful ? But
this ſuppoſes, that there is ſome an t rule of duty and
morals. 1s it becauſe human nature is generally grateful, and
makes us conclude, that a man who does any harm. never re-
ceived any fayour from the perſon he harm'd ? But human na-
ture is not ſo generally grateful, as to juſtify ſuch a concluſion.
Or if it were, is an exception to a general rule in every caſe
criminal, for no other reaſon than becauſe it is an exception?
But what may ſuffice entirely to deſtroy this whimſical ſyſtem
is, that it leaves us under the ſame difficulty to give a reaſon
why truth is virtuous and falſhood vicious, as to account for the
merit or turpitude of any other action. I ſhall allow, if you |
leaſe, that all immorality is derived from this ſuppoſed falſe-
| in action, provided you can give me any plauſible rea-
ſon, why ſuch a falſhood is immoral. If you conſider rightly
of the matter, you will find yourſelf in the ſame difficulty as
at the beginning. 5 PEPE Ht e
This laſt argument is very conclufive ; becauſe, if there be
not an evident merit or turpitude annex'd to this ſpecies of
truth or falſhood, it can never have any influence upon our
actions. For, who ever thought of forbearing any action, be-
cauſe others might poſſibly draw falſe concluſions from it? Or,
| who ever perform'd any, that he might give riſe 'to true con-
ufions ? ne |
. | paſſion :
5 &m BFS 88
.
—
*
8
29
2
ä
= 14 A Treatiſe: of Human Wature.
| PART paſſion: Bat it is not pretended, that a judg-
I. ment of this kind, either in its truth or
F falhood," is attended with virtue or vice.
and vice And as to the judgments, which are cauſed
in — eneral.
by our judgments, they can ſtill leſs beſtow
thoſe moral qualities on the actions, which are
.
8 Bur to be more particular, and to ſhew,
that thoſe eternal immutable fitneſſes and
unfitneſſes of things cannot be defended by
ſound philoſophy, we may weigh the fol-
_ lowing conſiderations,
I,x the thought and underſtanding were
alone capable of fixing the boundaries of
right and wrong, the character of virtuous
and vicious either muſt lie in ſome relations
of objects, or muſt be a matter of fact,
which is diſcovered by our reaſoning. This
conſequence is evident. As the operations
of human underſtanding divide themſelves
into two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and
the inferring of matter of fact; were virtue
diſcover'd by the pnderfianding; ; it muſt be
an object of one of theſe operations, nor is
there any third operation of the underſtand-
ing, which can diſcover it. There has been
an opinion very induſtriouſly propagated by
certain philoſophers, that morality is ſuſcep-
tible of demonſtration ; and tho no one has
ANTE? ever
r * * -
— 1 189. = ——
3 — — — » FS N 2
— EEE eh 252
95
85
—
[I
— —
& —
— a aan
——_— -
—
——— ——
— * — —
Book III. f Moral. 125
ever been able to advance a fingle ſtep in 8 2 Cr.
thoſe demonſtrations; yet 'tis taken for gran- I.
ted, that this ſcience may be brought to an 37,2; I.
equal certainty with geometry or algebra. ,,
Upon this ſuppoſition, vice and virtue muſt from v.
conſiſt in ſome relations; fince tis allow d
on all hands, that no matter of fact is capa-
ble of being demonſtrated. Let us, therefore,
| begin with examining this hypotheſis, and
| endeavour, if poſſible, to fix thoſe moral
qualities, which have been fo long the ob-
jects of our fruitleſs reſearches. Point out
- diſtinctly the relations, which conſtitute
f morality or obligation, - that we may know
8 wherein they conſiſt, and after what man-
8 ner we muſt judge of them.
A Ir you aſſert, that vice and virtue conſiſt
is in relations ſuſceptible of certainty and de-
8 monſtration, you muſt confine yourſelf to
88 thoſe four relations, which alone admit of
d that degree of evidence; and in that caſe you
Ie run into abſurdities, from which you will
be never be able to extricate yourſelf, For as
is you make the very eſſence of morality to lie
d- in the relations, and as there is no one of
en theſe relations but what is applicable, not
by only to an irrational, but alſo to an inanimate
p- object; it follows, that even ſuch objects
as _— de ſuſceptible of merit or demerit.
ver 5 hd Reſem-
71 * * 8
N 9 9 "PF" 6. PAW * —_— *
Pug Cn ole Ie ed ² oe un 1 i TE 3 2 >
oF TORI SY * W
14
16 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART Reſemblance, contrariety, degrees. in quality,
I. and- proportions in quantity. and number; all
50555 theſe relations belong as properly to matter,
end wice a8 to our actions, paſſions, and volitions.
e pig unqueſtionable, therefore, that morality
les not in any of theſe relations, nor the
ſenſe of it in their diſcorery . |
. -Sxov'D it be aſſerted, that the ſenſe of
morality conſiſts in the diſcovery of ſome
relation, diſtin& from theſe, and that our
| enumeration was not compleat, when we
comprehended all demonſtrable relations un-
der four general heads: To this I know not
what to reply, till ſome one be ſo good as
to point out. to me this new relation. "Tis
impoſſible to refute a ſyſtem, which has ne-
b As a, proof, how confus'd our way of thinking on this
ſubject commonly is, we may obſerve, that thoſe who aſſert,
that morality is demonſtrable, do not ſay,” that morality lies
in the relations, and that the relations are diſtinguiſhable by
reaſon. They only fay, that reaſon can diſcover ſuch an ac-
tion, in ſuch relations, to be virtuous, and ſuch another vi-
cious. It ſeems they thought it ſufficient, if they cou'd bring
the word, Relation, into the propoſition, without i
795 ves whether it was to the 4 ot not. But here,
think, is plain argument. Demonſtrative reaſon diſcovers
only relations. But that reaſon, according to this hypothe-
ſis, diſcovers alſo vice and virtue. Theſe moral qualities,
therefore, muſt be relations. When we blame an ation, in
any ſituation, the whole complicated object, of action and f1-
tuation, muſt form certain relations, wherein the eſſence of
vice conſiſts. This hypotheſis is not otherwiſe intelligible.
For what reaſon diſcover, when it pronounces any action
vicious? Does it diſcover 'a relation or a mitter of fact ?
Theſe queſtions are deciſive, and muſt not be elud ec.
4
= \ * 3
> py 7 8 2 1 Y 4 4 — 2 29 7 3 — ad F
PER VR . — — one ES — To, on = — — = RR — 9
— 7 = 2 : 2 EET" 2 — — — 22 — — — — — — 72. x F — — — — 8 8
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— , ⏑ See
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W
ee
where the enemy is not: preſent. a
ſuſceptible of moral beauty and deſormity.
Now it ſeems difficult to Imagine, that any
LEY betwixt our 2
Book III. 07 Beru.
ver yer. been explain'd. In .
of fighting in the dark, a man loſes his "=
blows'in the air, and often places them Moral
I mvsrT, therefore, on this occaſion, reſt „
contented with requiring the two following“ - I
conditions of any one that wou'd undertake 1
to clear up this ſyſtem. Firſt, As moral
good and evil belong only to the actions of
the mind, and are deri d from our ſituatibii
with regard to external objects, the rela-
tions, from which theſe moral diſtinctions
ariſe, muſt lie only betwixt internal actions,
and external objefts, and muſt not be appli-
cable either to internal actions, compared
among themſelves, or to external objects,
when placed in oppoſition to other external
objects. For as morality is ſuppoſed to at- =
tend certain relations, if theſe relations cou'd — 8
belong to internal actions conſider d ſingly, 5
it wou'd follow, that we might be guilty
of crimes in ourſelves, and independent of i
our ſituation, with reſpe& to the univerſe 2 —A
And in like manner, if theſe moral relations —
cou d be apply d to external objects, it w e
follow, that even inanimate beings wou'd be —
1 1 4
18
A Treatiſe of 1 555 Mature.
4 RT fions, volitions and actions, compared to ex-
3
e
al,
| ternal objects, which relation might not be-
SL > long either to theſe paſſions and volitions,
or to theſe external objects, compar d among
themſelves.
Bot u will be fill mere Gedi no kl.
fil the ſecond condition, requiſite to juſtify
this ſyſtem. According to the principles of
thoſe who maintain an abſtract rational dif-
ference betwixt moral good and evil, nad <1
natural fitneſs and unfitneſs of things,
not only ſuppos d, — —
eternal and immutable, are the ſame, when
conſider'd by every rational creature, but
their geht are Ag lappeiit'2o be uscedüy
the ſame ;' and tis concluded they have no
lefs, or rather a greater, influence in direct-
ing the will of the deity, than in governing
the rational and virtuous of our own ſpe-
cies. Theſe two particulars are evidently
diſtinct. Tis one thing to know virtue, and
another to conform the will to it. In order,
| therefore, to prove, that the [meaſures of
right and wrong are eternal laws, | oblagatory
on every rational mind, tis not fufficient to
ſhew the relations upon which they are
founded: We muſt alſo point out the con-
nexion betwixt the relation and the will;
2 neceſſary,
Book HI. , Moral. 19
neceſſary, that in every well-diſpoſed mind, 8 E C.
it muſt take place and have its influence; I.
tho the difference betwixt theſe minds be in 16,77 7
other reſpects immenſe and infinite. Now fad,
beſides what I have already prov d, hit een from row:
in human nature no telation can ever alone “
produce any action; beſides this, I ſay, it
has been ſhewn, in treating of the under-
je” that there is no connexion of cauſe
and effect, ſuch as this is ſuppos d to be, 55
which is is diſcoyerable otherwiſe than by
ex and of which we can pretend to
have any ſecurity by the ſimple conſideration
of the objects. All beings in the univerſe,
— in themſelves, appear entirely looſe
and independent of each other. Tis only
by experience we learn their influence and
connexion; and this influence we 'ouglt
never to extend beyond experience.
Tavs it will be impoſlible'to fulfil the
© firſt condition required to the ſyſtem of eter-
nal rational meaſures of right and wrong;
becauſe it is impoſlible to ſhew thoſe rela-
tions, upon which ſuch a diſtinction may
be founded: And tis as impoſſible to fulfil
the ſecond condition; ; becauſe we cannot
prove 4 priori, that theſe relations, W
really exiſted and were perceiv d, wor'd be,
„
bs
| .
—
- Of wirtue *©
| dvi wherein this
1 e
N the more flagrant inſtances of wounds and
death. - This is acknowledg d by all man-
the queſtion only ariſes among philoſophers,
c. Treatiſe of Human Mature.
. Bor to make theſe. general reflections
more clear and convincing, we may illu-
WY ſtrate, them by ſome particular inſtances,
character of moral good or
evil is the moſt univerſally. acknowledged.
»* Of all crimes. that human creatures are ca-
pable of committing, the moſt horrid and
unnatural i is i ingratitude, eſpecially* when it
is committed againſt parents, and — in
kind, philoſophers as well as the people;
vhather. the guilt or moral deformity of this
en be liſover'd by demonſtrative reaſon-
ing, or be felt by an internal ſenſe, and by
means of ſome ſentiment, which the reflect-
ing on ſuch an action naturally | occaſions,
This queſtion will ſoon be decided againſt
the formes opinion, if we can ſhew the ſame
relations in other objects. without the notion
5 of any guilt or iniquity attending them.
Reaſon or ſcience is nothing but the com-
paring of ideas, and the diſcovery of their
: lations ;\.and if the ſame relations have
different characters, it muſt evidently follow,
that thoſe characters are not diſcover d merely
n To put the affair, therefore, to
. den chok en inanimate objec,
9 7 *
Book III. Of Moral. N 21
ſuch as an oak or elm; and let us ſuppoſe, SECT:
that by the dropping of its ſeed, it produces 1
,2 ſapling below it, which ſpringing up by rx
degrees, at laſt overtops and deſtroys" the Hie,
parent tree: I aſk, if in this inſtance there 5," — 4
be wanting any relation, which is dion.
able in parricide or ingratitude? Is not the N
one tree the cauſe of the other's exiſtence
a the latter the cauſe of the deſtruction »
of the former, in the ſame manner as when
a child murders his parent? Tis not ſuffi-
cient to reply, that a choice or will is want-
ing. For in the {caſe of parricide, a will
does not give riſe to any diſferent relations,
but is only the cauſe; from which the action
is FRM: d and conſequently; produces the
ante, relations, that: in the oak or elm ariſe
from ſome other principles. Pis a will or
choice, that determines a man to kill his
patent; and they are the laws of matter and
motion, that determine a ſapling to deſtroy
the oak, from which it ſprung. Here then
the: fame. relations have different cauſes; but
fill. the relations are the fame And as th-*
diſoovery i is not in both caſes attende# ith
2 notion of immorality, it folſo-s, that
that e e ariſe „ e . |
coneny.:: mad ar e eee,
only 0 vina N e i n
.
11
+ oh
I
A Treatiſe of Human Nature. *
ParxT Bur to chuſe an inſtance, ſtill more re-
ſembling ; ; I would fain aſk any one, why
G ** Wk = inceſt. in the human ſpecies 1 1s criminal, and
and A) why the very fame action, and the fame
in gener
Sie praiſe and blame to human creatures,
ſeparate being in theſe moral tint
relations in animals have not the ſmalleſt
moral turpitude and deformity ? If it be
anſwer d, that this action is innocent in ani-
mals, becauſe they have not reaſon ſufficient
to diſcover its turpitude; but that man, be-
ing endow'd with that faculty, which cage
to reſtrain him to his duty, the ſame action
inſtantly becomes criminal to him; ſhould
this be ſaid, I would reply, that this 3 is evi-
dently arguing in a circle. For before rea-
ſon can perceive this turpitude, the turpitude
muſt exiſt; and conſequently is independent
of the deciſions of our reaſon, and is theit
object more properly than their effect. Ac-
cording to this ſyſtems; then, every animal,
that has ſenſe, and uppetite, and will; chat
is, every animal muſt be ſſceptible of all
tze ſame! virtues and vices,” for which we
eu the difference is, that our fuperjor real
to diſcover the vice: or virtue, and
”
* 7
— aun des diſcovery
ſuppoſes « a
808 # bring, wich depends only on the 5
c
% © > 6
>
=O EST TESPETEECrT SO
W
d
r
N action allow d to be vicious: Wil
Book III. 0 Meral. a3
will and appetite, and which, both in thought 8 E e r.
and reality, may be diftinguiſh'd from the I.
reaſon, Animals are ſuſceptible of the ſame ja Moral di
relations, with reſpe& to each other, as the Aer, —
human ſpecies, and therefore wou'd alſo be hun rea-
ſaſceptible of the ſame morality, if the /.
eſſence of morality conſiſted in theſe rela-
tions. Their want of a ſafficient degree of
reaſon may hinder them from perceiving the
duties and obligations of morality, but can
never hinder theſe duties from exiſting ; ſince
they muſt antecedently exiſt, in order to
their being perceiv'd. Reaſon. muſt find
them, and can never produce them. This
argument deſerves to be weigh'd, as being,
in my opinion, entirely deciſive.
Nox does this reaſoning only prove, that
morality conliſts not in any relations, that
are the. of ſcience; but if examin d,
will prove with equal certainty, that it
conſiſts not in any matter of fads, which
can be diſcover'd by the underſtanding. This
is the Fond part of our argument; and if
it can be made evident, we may conclude,
that morality is not an object of reaſon.
But can there be any difficulty in proving,
that vice and virtue are not matters of fact,
whoſe exiſtenet we can infer by ales
MN | ful
Gu © ”
1
* ” .
1
1 |
*
and vice
in ”"—
f :
""S
1 Rar e ee us n
A Treatiſe of Fluman Nature.
PAR x ful murder, for inſtance. Examine it in all
lights, and ſee if you can find that matter
Fo of fact, or real exiſtence, which you call
vice. In which- ever way you take it, you
find only certain paſſions, motives, volitions
and thoughts. There is no other matter of
fact in the caſe. The. vice entirely eſcapes
you, as long as you conſider the object.
Vou never can find it, till you turn your
reflection into your on breaſt, and find a
ſentiment of diſapprobation, which ariſes in
you, towards this action. Here is a matter
of fact; but tis the object of feeling, not of
reaſon. It lies in yourſelf, not in the object.
So that when you pronounce any action or
character to be vicious, you mean nothing,
but that from the cotſtitaticn : of your na-
ture you have a; feeling or ſentiment af
blame from the contemplation of it. Vice
and virtue, therefore, may be compar'd to
ſounds, colours, heat and cold, which, ac-
cording to modern philoſophy, are not qua-
| lities i in objects, but perceptions in the mind:
And this diſcovery in morals, like that other
in phyſics, is to be regarded as à con-
ſiderable advancement of the ſpeculative
ſciences; tho; like that too; it has little or
no influence an practice. Nothing can be
| ms : than our
—
Bock JF. ::-Qf Mot. 25
1 own: > + An of pleaſure. and uneaſineſs ; S E CT.
r and if theſe be favourable to virtue, and un- g
ll favourable to vice, no more can be requiſite Na
u to the regulation of our conduct and be-
8 haviour. q #. from rea-
f I cannot forbear adding to theſe reaſonings *
8 an-. obſervation, which may, perhaps, be
t. found of ſome importance. In every ſyſtem.
Ty of morality, which J have hitherto met with,
A I have. always remark'd, that the author
n proceeds for ſome time in the ordinary way
er of reaſoning, and eſtabliſhes the being of a
of | God, or makes obſervations concerning hu-
. man affairs; when of a ſudden I am ſur-
or priz'd. to find, that inſtead. of the uſual
g. copulations of propoſitions, is, and is not,
I meet with no propoſition. that is not con-
nected with an ought, or an ought not. This
change 1s imperceptible ; but is, however, -
of the laſt conſequence. For as this ought,
or ought not, expreſſes ſome new relation or
affirmation, tis neceſſary that it ſhou'd be
obſerv d and explain d; and at the ſame time
that a reaſon ſhould be given, for what ſeems
altogether inconceivable, ho this new rela-
tion can be a deduction from others, which
are entirely different from it. But as authors
do not cœmmonly uſe this precaution, I ſhall
9 to end 4p the readers;
an :
BEES A A 88 8
A Treatiſe of Human Nature. |
Pax and am perfiaded, that this ſmall attention
wou'd ſubvert all the vulgar ſyſtems of
> -72. ag morality, and let ns ſee, that the diſtinction
end vice of yice and virtne is not founded merely on
aches the relations of Ny nor is we? on ＋
44.
and virtue are not diſcoverable
the excluſion of the one is 4
argument for the other. Morality, there-
reaſon. |
s E C . =
Moral difinSfios deriv'd from a
moral ſenſe. |
HUS the courſe of ths "nie:
leads us to conclude, that fince vice
merely by
reaſon, or the compariſon of ideas, it muſt
be by means of fome impreffion or ſenti-
ment they occaſion, that we are able to
mark the difference betwixt them, Our
| decifions concerning moral rectitude and de-
pravity are evidently perceptions; and as all
perceptions are either impreſſions or ideas,
fore, is more properly felt than judg d of;
tho' this feeling or ſentiment is commonly
fo ſoft and gentle, that we are apt to con-
— it with an ie, according to out com-
mon
\
Book HI. Of Mn, 27
mon cuſtom of taking all things for the ſame, SECT.
which" have any near reſemblance to esch II.
ee
other. V.
Tus next an 25 Of what nature ate Jovi |
ax
theſe impreffions, and after what manner r
they operate upon us? Here we cannot re- .
main long in ſuſpenſe, but muſt pronounes |
the impreffion ariſing from virtue, to be
agreeable, and that proceding from vice to a
4 be uneuſy. Every moment's experience muſt
eonvince us 2 this. There is no ſpectacle
ſo fait and beautiful as à noble and generous
action; nor any which gives us mort abhor-
renes Abun one that is ctuel and trexcherous. |
Ne enjoyment equals! the fatisfackion we re-
ceive' from” the company of thoſe we love
and eſteem ; as the grenteſt of all puniſti-
ments is to be oblig'd to paſs our lives with
thoſe we hate or chte mn. A very play or
tomanee may afford us inftances of this plea-
| ſure; which virtue cb h to us; e
which afiſes from vite.
Now fine the diſtinguiſhing irapllois
by which moral good or evil is known, are
nothing but purfreviay pains or pleafures;” it
follows, 'that it! all enquiries concerning theſe
mora} diſtinitiots, it will be fufficient to ſhew
the principles, "which maler us feel 4 fatiſ.
eke. es uncaftneſs fon the Wrvey of an
chg-
ess
8
„ 1.
E *
WAN
Of wirtze
and uice
e
A — Rider Mature
8 in order to ſatisfy us why the cha-
racter is laudable or blameable. An action,
or ſentiment, or character is virtuous or
vicious; why? becauſe its view cauſes a
pleaſure, ,or, uncalineſs: of a particular kind.
In giving a reaſon; therefore, for the plea-
ſure ot uneaſineſs, we ſufficiently explain the
vice or virtue. To have the ſenſe of virtue,
is; nothing but to feel a ſatisfaction of a par-
ticular kind from the contemplation of a
character. The very feeling conſtitutes our
praiſe IX -admiration.. . We. go no farther;
nor do we enquire into the cauſe of the ſa-
Viesfsctibge We do not; infer a character to
bo vittugus, becauſe, it pleaſes: But in feeling
chat it pleaſes aſter ſuch a particular man-
ner, we in effect ſeel that it is virtuous, The
caſe; is the ſame as in our judgments con-
cerning all kinds of beauty, and taſtes, and
ſenſations. Our appropation is imply d in
ien pleaſure they gonvey 70 ue.
I avs objected to the ſyſtem, which
eſtabliſhes cternal rational meaſures of tight
and wrong, that 'tis impoſſible to ſhew, in
the actions of reaſonable creatures, any rela-
tions,.. which are not found in external ob-
jects; and therefore, if morality alxrays at ·
tended. theſe, relations, txrere paſſible for
gts utter 41 Reede virtnons or vi.
4 Rca 8 Cious.
Bock III. Of "Mora
rr *. 29 1
cious. Now it mey, in like manner; be ch. 8 = 7.
jected to the preſent ſyſtem, that if virtue II.
and vice be determin d by pleaſure and pain, Wo zz
theſe qualities muſt, in every caſe, ariſe from {3
whether animate or inanimate, rational or ir- GC.
rational, might become morally good or evil,
provided it can excite a ſatisfaction or un-
eaſineſs. But tho this objection ſeems to be
the very ſame, it has by no means the ſame
force, in the one caſe as in the other. For,
firſt, tis evident, that under the term plea-
ſure, we comprehend ſenſations, which are
very different from each other, and which
have only ſuch a diſtant reſemblance, as is
requiſite to make them be exprefs'd by the
ſame abſtract term. A good compoſition of
muſic and a bottle of good wine equally
produce pleaſure; and what is more, their
goodneſs is determin'd merely by the plea-
ſure. But ſhall we ſay upon that account,
that the wine is harmonious; or the muſic of
a good flavour? In like manner an inani-
mate object, and the character or ſentiments
of any perſon may, both of them, give ſa-
tisfaction; but as the ſatisfaction is different,
this keeps our ſentiments concerning them
from being confounded, and makes us aſcribe
virtue to the one, and not to the other.
1 Nor
47
30
1.
Of virtue
' condemn. | The good qualities of an enemy
and wice
exe general.
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART Nor is every ſentiment: of pleaſure or pain,
which ariſes from characters and actions, of
that peculiar kind, which makes us praiſe or
are hurtful to us; but may ſtill command
our eſteem and reſpect. Tis only when a
character is conſidered in general, without
reference to our particular. intereſt, that jt
cauſes ſuch a feeling or ſentiment, as deno-
voice of an enemy is agreeable, or to allow
ſelves, diſtinct; and a man of temper and
minates it morally or eyil. Tis true,
thoſe ſentiments, from intereſt and morals, are
apt to be confounded, and naturally run in-
to one another, It ſeldom happens, that we do
not think an enemy vicious, and can diſtin-
guiſh betwixt his oppoſition to our intereſt
and real villainy or baſeneſs. But this hinders
not, but that the ſentiments are, in them-
judgment may preſerve himſelf from theſe
illuſions. In like manner, tho' *tis certain a
muſical voice is nothing but one that natu-
rally gives a particular kind of pleaſure yet
tis difficult for a man to be ſenſible, that the
it to be muſical, But a perſon of a fine ear,
who has the command of himſelf, can ſe-
parate theſe feelings, and give praiſe to what
deſerves it.
a 22
Book III. O Moral.. 31
Secondly, We may call to remembrance 8 E 7,
the preceding ſyſtem of the paſſions, in ar- II.
der to remark a Rill more confiderable dif- N. I.
ference among our pains and pleaſures. Pride find
and humility, love and hatred are excited, frow « me
when there · is any thing preſented to us, that i.
both bears a relation to the obje& of the paſ-
fion, and produces a ſeparate ſenſation rela-
ted to the 1enſation of the paſſion. Now.
virtue and vice are attended with theſe cir-
cumſtances. They muſt neceſſarily be plac'd
either in ourſelves or others, and excite ei-
ther pleaſure or uneaſineſs; and therefore
muſt give riſe to one of theſe four paſſions ;
which clearly diſtinguiſhes them from the
pleaſure and pain arifing from inanimate ob-
jects, that often bear no relation to us: And
this is, perhaps, the moſt confiderable effect
that virtue and Vice ave upon the human
mind,
IT may now be ask d in general, con-
cerning this pain or pleaſure, that diſtin-
guiſhes moral good and evil, From what
principles is it derived, and whence does it
eriſe in the human mind? To this I reply,
firſt, that tis abſurd to imagine, that in
every particular inſtance, theſe ſentiments
are produc'd by an original quality and pri-
may * For as the number of
our
32 A Treatiſe of Human Maart
E
P Ny our duties is, in a manner, infinite, Wim n
I. poſſible that our original inſtincts ſhould ex- k
Gf oirne tend to each of them, and from our very |
ard vice firſt infancy impreſs on the human mind all a
erden that multitude of precepts, which are con- *
tain d in the compleateſt ſyſtem of ethics. *
Such a method of proceeding is not con- 5
formable to the uſual maxims, by which na- t
ture is conducted, where a few principles f.
: produce all that variety we obſerve in. the i ©
univerſe, | and every thing is carry'd on in *
the eaſieſt and moſt ſimple manner. Tis p:
neceſſary, therefore, to abridge theſe primary d
impulſes, and find ſome more general prin- a
ciples, upon nien all our nalen A mo- af
rals are founded.” rr *
Bor in the c W ſhould it be ack'd, th
* Whether we ought" to ſearch for theſe prin- "
ciples in nature, or whether we muſt look =»
for them in ſome other origin? I wou' d re- 1
+ ply, that our answer to this queſtion depend I .
upon the definition of the word, Nature, 4
than which there is none more ambiguous A
and equivocal. If nature be oppos d to mi-
racles, not only the diſtinction betwixt vice *
and virtue is natural, but alſo every event,
which has ever happen'd in the world, ex-
cepting thoſe miracles, on which! our religion fe
by 8 In _ then, that ws ſenti-
ment 75
; _
Bock III Of Meran.
ments of * virtue are natural f in „ |
ſenſe, we make no very extraordinary diſcovery.
Bur nature may alſo be oppoſed to rare ar
and unuſual; and in this ſenſe of the word
which is the common. one, there may often om 4 n.
ariſe diſputes concerning what is natural or bars arch
unnatural ; and one may in general affirm,
that we are not poſſeſs d of any very preciſe
ſtandard, by which theſe diſputes can be de-
cided. Frequent and rare depend upon the
number of examples we have obſerv'd ; and
as this number may gradually encreaſe or
diminiſh, twill be impoſſible to fix any ex-
act boundaries betwixt them. We may only
affirm on this head, that if ever there was
any thing, which.cou'd be call'd natural in
this ſenſe, the ſentiments of morality cer-
tainly may ; fince there never was any nation
of the world, nor any fingle perſon in any
nation, who was utterly depriv'd of them,
and who never, in any inſtance, ſhew'd the
leaſt approbation or diſlike of manners.
Theſe ſentiments are fo rooted in our con-
ſtitution and temper, that without entirely
confounding the human mind by diſeaſe or
madneſs, tis impoſſible to extirpate and de-
ſtroy them. -
Bur nature may alſo be oppoſed to arti-
fice, as well as to what is rare and unu-
„ ſual;
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1
3 — of Human Nature.
on Pax ſual; and in this ſenſe it may be diſputed,
I. whether the notions of virtue be natural or
Gs not. We readily forget, that the deſigns, and
and vice projects, and views of men are principles as
in general. 8 . . |
neceſſary in their operation as heat and cold,
moiſt and dry : But taking them to. be free
and entirely our own, tis uſual for us to ſet 1
them in oppoſition to the other principles of h
n
ti
nature. Shou'd it, therefore, be demanded,
whether the ſenſe of virtue be natural or ar-
tificial, J am of opinion, that tis impoffible
for me at preſent to give any preciſe anſwer
to this queſtion. Perhaps it will appear af- P
terwards, that our ſenſe of ſome virtues is ar-
tificial, and that of others natural. The
diſcuſſion of this queſtion will be more pro-
per, when we enter upon an exact detail of b
each particular vice and virtue | |
MAN while it may not be amiſs to ob-
ſerve from theſe definitions of natural and
| unnatural, that nothing can be more unpht-
loſophical than thoſe ſyſtems, which aſſert, | ©
that virtue is the ſame with what is natural, Je
and vice with what is unnatural. For in the bY
firſt ſenſe of the word, Nature, as oppoſed to 45
miracles, both vice and virtue are equally na- for
tural ; and in the ſecond ſenſe, as oppos'd to *
fine
In the followi ing diſcourſe natural is alſo oppoſed ſome- ral
times to civil, ſometimes to moral. The oppoſition will al-
weng diſcover the Tenſe, in which it is taken. for
what
Book III. Of Moral. 33
what is unuſual, perhaps virtue will be found 8 E C.
to be the moſt unnatural. At leaſt it muſt II.
be own'd, that heroic virtne, being as un- gf.
uſual, is as little natural as the moſt brutal ,
barbarity. As to the third ſenſe of the word, fun 4 no-
tis Certain, that both vice and virtue are ee
equally artificial, and out of nature. For
however it may be diſputed, whether the
notion of a merit or demerit in certain ac-
tions be natural or artificial, tis evident, that
the actions themſelves are artificial, and are
perform'd with a certain deſign and intention;
otherwiſe they cou d never be rank d under
any of theſe denominations. Tis impoſſible,
therefore, that the character of natural and
unnatural can ever, in any gg mark the
boundaries of vice and virtue.
Tu us we are ſtill brought dai to our
firſt poſition, that virtue is diſtinguiſhed by
the pleaſure, and vice by the pain, that any
action, ſentiment or character gives us by
the mere view and contemplation, This
deciſion is very commodious ; becauſe it re-
duces us to this fimple queſtion, Y by any
action or Sentiment upon the general view or
| Jurvey, gives à certain ſatisfattion or unea-
fineſs, in order to ſhew the origin of its mo-
ral rectitude or depravity, without looking
for any incomprehenſible relations and qua-
at D 2 lities,
36 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pax x lities, which never did exiſt in nature, nor
I. even in our imagination, by any clear and
Of virtue diſtinct conception. I flatter myſelf I have.
_ and wn, executed a great part of my preſent deſign
rai by a ſtate of the queſtion, which appears to
me ſo free from ambiguity and bt.
e ©
(HF
\ A e
I SE
"F/
r >: * .
.
PART u. |
Of juſtice and injuſtice.
Jos = fag ts I
values, whether a natural or ert.
Ar virtue 11 |
a 9
808 = HAVE already hinted, that our $ x C T.
> 15 19 ſenſe of every kind of virtue is I.
not natural; but that there are WWW
pe 9 ſome virtues, that produce plea-
fare and 23 by means of an ar-
tiſice or contrivance, which ariſes from the
circumſtances and neceflity,, of mankind. .y
Of this kind I aſſert juſtice to be; and ſhall
endeavour to defend this opinion by a ſhort,
and, I hope, convincing argument, before I
examine the nature of the artifice, from
which the ſenſe of that virtue js derived.
D 3 | Tis
38
2
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pax r 'Tis evident, that when we praiſe any
II.
actions, we regard only the - motives that
Of juftice produced them, and conſider the actions as
and i inju-
fice.
ſigns; and the ultimate object of our praiſe
ſigns or indications of certain principles in
the mind and temper, The external per-
formance has no merit. We muſt look
within to find the moral quality, This we
cannot do directly; and therefore fix our
attention on actions, as on external ſigns,
But theſe, actions are ſtill conſidered as
and approbation is ſho motive, that produc d
them.
Ar TRR the fame CE when we. re-
quire any action, or blame a perſqn for -”
performing it, we always ſuppoſe,
in that ſituation ſhou'd be influenc'd by _
proper motive of that action, and we eſteem
it vicious in him to be regardleſs of it. If
ve find, upon enquiry, that the virtuous
motive was ſtill powerful over his breaſt,
tho check d in its operation by ſome cir-
cumſtances unknown to us, we retract our
blame, and have the ſame eſteem for him,
as if he had actually * the aRtion,
which we require of bm
Ix appears, therefore, that all virtwous
actions derive their merit only from virtuous
MAHves, and are confider'd merely as ſigns
of
Y 2 „s,. 0 —— "WY ” Y
Book III. Of Morals.
of choſe motives. From this principle I con-
clude, that the firſt virtuous motive, which
beſtows a merit on any action, can never be
a regard to the virtue of that action, but
muſt be ſome other natural motive or prin-
ciple. To ſuppoſe, that the mere regard to
the virtue of the action, may be the firſt
motive, which produc'd the aQtion, and
render'd it virtuous, is to reaſon in a circle.
Before we can have ſuch a regard, the ac-
39
SECT,
I.
—
Fu *
3
artificial
virtus P
tion muſt be really virtuous ; and this virtue
muſt be deriv'd from ſome virtuous motive :
Afd conſequently the virtuous motive muſt
be different from the ard to the virtue of
the action. A virtuous motive is requiſite to
render an action virtuous, An action muſt
be virtuous, before we can have a regard to
its virtue. Some virtuous motive, therefore,
muſt be antecedent to that regard.
Non is this merely a metaphyſical ſubtil-
ty.; but enters into all our reaſonings in
common life, tho' perhaps we may not be
able to place it in ſuch diſtinct philoſophical
terms. We blame a father for neglecting his
child. Why? becauſe it ſhews a want of
natural affection, which is the duty of every
parent. Were not natural affection a duty,
the care of children cou'd not be a duty;
and TWINE impoſſible we cou d have the duty
| D 4 in
40 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART in our eye in the attention we give to our
+ 5 In this caſe, therefore, all men
Gp, 57545 ſuppoſe a motive to the achop. diſtin from
— & ſenſe of duty.
HFxxRx is a man, that does x many benevo-
the afflited, and extends his bounty even to
the greateſt ſtrangers. No character can be
more amiable and virtuous, We regard theſe
actions as proofs of the greateſt humanity.
This humanity beſtows a merit on the ac-
tions. A regard to this merit is, therefore, a
ſecondary conſideration, and deriv d from the
_ "antecedent principlq of humanity, which is
meritorious and laudable.
Is ſhort, it may be eſtabliſh'd as an un-
| ' doubted maxim, that no action can be vir-
tuous, or morally good, unleſs there be in bu-
man nature ſome motive to produce it, diſtinct
from the ſenſe of its morality.
BuT may not the ſenſe of morality or
duty produce an action, A any other
motive? I anſwer, It may: But this is no
objection to the preſent doctrine. When
any virtuous motive or principle is common
in human nature, a perſon, who feels his
1 * 4 heart devoid of that motive, may. hate him-
: ſelf upon that account, and Wy perform
te action * the ITE, from a Cer-
_ faln
lent actions; relieves the diſtreſs'd, comforts
TT
*
WY III. _ Of Moran. +l
praQtice, that virtuous principle, or. at leaſt, I.
to diſguiſe to himſelf, as much as poſſible, 5,,; 5
his want of it. A man that really feels no ae,
gratitude in his temper, is ſtill pleas d to artificial
perform grateful actions, and thinks he has, *
by that means, fulfill d his duty. Actions
are at firſt only confider'd as figns of mo-
tives: But tis uſual, in this caſe, as in all
others, to fix our attention on the ſigns, and
neglect, in ſome meaſure, the thing ſigni-
| y d. But tho, on ſomę occaſſions, a Ry
may perform an action merely out of r
to its moral obligation, yet ſtill this ſu —
in human nature ſome diſtinct principles,
which are capable of producing the action,
and whoſe moral beauty renders the action
meritorious.
No to apply all this to 72 preſent caſe; 3
1 ſuppoſe a perſon to have lent me a ſum of
money, on condition that it be reſtor d in a
few days; and alſo ſuppoſe, that after the
N of the term agreed on, he de-
= have 110 * — the money ? It will,
Perhaps, be fad, that my regard. to Jaltice,
and abborrence « of * and knavery, are
ſufficient reaſons, for me, if 1 haye the leaſt
Fan of . or ſenſe of duty and obli-
* gation.
tain ſenſe of duty, in order to acquire bySzc T. |
/
42 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART gation. And this anſwer, no doubt, is juſt
II. and fatisfatory to man in his civiliz'd ſtate;
Ha and when train d up according to a certain
| þ mug je diſcipline" and education. But in his rude
ict
and more natural condition, if you are
pleas d to call ſuch a condition natural, this
anſwer wou'd be rejected as perfectly unin-
telligible and ſophiſtical. For one in that
fituation wou'd immediately ask you, Where-
.in confiſts this bonefly and juſtice, which you
find in refloring a han, and abſtaining from
the Property of others? It does not ſurely
lie in the external action. It muſt, there-
fore be 'plac'd in the motive, from which
the external action is deriv d. This motive
can never be a regard to the honeſty of the
action. For tis a plain fallacy to ſay, that a
virtuous motive is requiſite, to render an ac-
tion honeſt, and at the ſame time that a re-
gard to the honeſty is the motive of the ac-
tion. We can never have a regard to the
virtue of an action, unleſs the action be an-
tecedenth virtuous. No action can be vir-
tuous, but ſo far as it proceeds from a virtuous
motiye. A virtuous motive, therefore, muſt
the regard to the virtue; and tis
impoſſible, that the virtuous motive and the
; eee W
* ei dige
0111 | "Tis
Book III. O Moral. 43
IT Is requiſite, then, to find Ges b
(6:80 of juſtice:and honeſty, diſtin from .
our regard to the honeſty; 3
the great difficulty. For ſhou'd we ſay, that —— —
a concern for our private intereſt or repu ; artificial
tation is the legitimate motive to all honeſt
actions; it wou'd follow, that wherever that
concern ceaſes, honeſty can no longer have
place. But 'tis certain, that ſelf- love, when
it acts at its liberty, inſtead of engaging us
to honeſt actions, is the ſource of all inju-
ſtice and violence; nor can a man ever cor-
rect thoſe vices, without correcting and re-
ſtraining the natural movements of that ap-
Bur ſhou'd it be affirm'd, that the rea-
ſon or motive of ſuch actions is the regard
to publick intereſt, to which nothing is more
contrary than examples of injuſtice and diſ-
honeſty ; ſhou' d this be ſaid, I wou'd pro-
poſe — three following conſiderations, as
r attention. Fir, public in-
i not mani attach d to the obſer-
vation of the rules of juſtice ; but is only
connected with it, after an artificial conven-
tion for the eſtabliſhment of theſe rules, as
ſhall be ſhewn more at large hereafter. Sx-
'condly,” if we ſuppoſe, that the loan was ſe-
ker and that it is neceſſary for che intereſt of
the
4 4 Treati iſe of Haden Mature.
Pax r the perſon, that the money be reſtor d in the
. ame manner (as when the lender wou d
— and * public 3 is no ow intereſted
oy in the actions of the borrower ; tho I. ſup-
2 — — who will affirm,
that the duty and obligation ceaſes. Thirdh,
experience ſufficiently proves, that men, in
the ordinary conduct of life, look not ſo far
as the public intereſt, when they pay their
creditors, perform their promiſes, and ab-
- ſtain from theft, and robbery, and injuſtice
of every kind. That is a motive too remote
and too ſublime to affect the generality of
mankind, and operate with any force in ac-
tions ſo contrary to private intereſt as are
frequently thoſe of n 1 n n ho-
e. 1
IN general, it may be fem d, that there |
is no ſüch paſſion in human minds, as the
love of mankind, merely as ſuch, indepen-
dent of perſonal qualities, of ſervices, or of
| relation to ourſelf. Tis true, there is no
AT 'human, and indeed no ſenſible, Creature,
| whoſe happineſs or miſery does not, in ſome
meaſure, affect us, when brought near to us,
and repreſented in lively colours; But this
proceeds merely from ſympathy, and is no
| BI of ſuch an ee affection to man-
| 4 kind,
*
Bock III. of Meral, N.
kind, fince this concern extends itſelf beyond 8 x OT.
our own ſpecies. An affection bet wixt the L
ſexes is a paſſion evidently implanted in hu- 79
man nature ; and this paſſion not only ap. ir ws
pears in its peculiar ſymptoms, but alſo in e
inflaming every other principle of affection,
and raiſing a ſtronger love from beauty, wit,
kindneſs, than what wou d otherwiſe flow
from them. - Were there an univerſal love
among all human creatures, it wou'd appear
after the ſame manner. Any degree of a
good quality wou'd cauſe a ſtronger affection
than the ſame degree of a bad quality wou'd
cauſe hatred ; contrary to what we find by
experience, Men's tempers are different,
and ſome have a propenſity to the tender,
and others to the rougher, affeQions : But
in the main, we may affirm, that man in
general, or human nature, is nothing but
the object both of love and hatred, and re-
quires ſome other cauſe, which by a double
relation of impreflions and :ideas, may ex-
Cite theſe paſſions, In vain wou'd we en-
deavour to elude this hypotheſis. There are
no phenomena that point out any fuch
kind affection to men, independent of their
merit, and every. other circumſtance. We
love company in general; but tis as we love
1 other 2 An Engliſhman in
ab AA Treatiſeof Hamas Nature.”
Pan” Hah is a friend © A Burepwan in Chine'
and perhaps a'man wou'd be belov'd as ſuch,
Of jaftice. Were we to meet him in the moon. But this
— proceeds only from the relation to ourſelves ;
which in theſe caſes gathers force by me
cConfined to a few perſons.
Ir public benevolence, therefore, or a
regard to the intereſts of mankind, cannot
be the original motive to juſtice, much leſs
can private benevolence, or a regard to the in-
tereſts of the party concern d, be this mo-
tive. For what if he be my enemy, and
has given me juſt cauſe to hate him? What
if he be a vicious man, and deſerves the ha-
tred of all mankind? What if he be a mi-
ſer, and can make no uſe of what I wou'd
_ deprive him of? What if he be a-profli-
gate debauchee, and wou'd rather receive
harm than benefit from large poſſeſſions?
What if I be in neceſſity, and have urgent
motives to acquire ſomething to my family:?
In all theſe caſes, the original motive to
juſtice wou'd fail ; and conſequently the
Juſtice itſelf, and along with it all property,
right, and obligation.
A Rick man lies under a moral obliga-
tion to communicate to thoſe in neceſſity a
* ſhare of his ſuperfluities. Were private be-
nevolence the original motive to juſtice, a
Book III. 07 Morals.
man wou'd not be oblig'd to oy . in 8 off
the — er aug than he is oblig'd to I.
give them. At. leaſt the difference wou'd Toſi
be very inconſiderable. Men generally 2 2
their affections more on what they are poſ-
ſeſs d of, than on what they never enjoy d: virtue ?
For this reaſon, it wou d be greater cruelty
to diſpoſſeſs a man of any thing, than not to
give it him. But who will aſſert, that this
is the only foundation of juſtice? -
Bes1DEs, we muſt conſider, that the 1
reaſon, why men attach themſelves ſo much
to their poſſeſſions is, that they conſider
them as their property, and as ſecur' d to
them inviolably by the laws of ſociety. But
this is a ſecondary conſideration, and depen-
dent on the Wann notions of juſtice and
A MAN'S property is ſuppos'd to be fenc'd
againſt every mortal, in every poſſible caſe.
But private benevolence is, and ought to be,, Ci e he
weaker in ſome perſons, than in others: 974/91 0/2
And in many, or indeed in moſt perſons,
muſt abſolutely fail. Private benevolence,
therefore, is not the original motive of ju-
Nice.
| From all this it follows, that we have e,
no real or univerſal motive for obſerving the
laws of equity, but the very equity and me-
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b A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART rit of that obſervance; and as no action can
II. be equitable or meritorious, where it cannot
Fee ariſe from ſome ſeparate motive, there is
and ½ here an evident ſophiſtry and reaſoning in a
Vis, circle, Unleſs, therefore, we will allow,
Almat nature has eſtabliſh'd a ſophiſtry, and
\ _render'd it neceſſary and unavoidable, we
muſt allow, . that the ſenſe of juſtice and-in-
juſtice is not deriv'd from nature, but ariſes
artificially, tho neceſſarily from education,
and human conventions.
:T $HALL add, as a N to this rea-
ſoning, that ſince no action can he laudable
or blameable, without ſome motives or im-
pelling paſſions, diſtinct from the ſenſe of
morals, theſe diſtinct paſſions muſt have a
3 great influence on that ſenſe. Tis accord-
ing to their general force in human nature,
that we blame or praiſe. In judging of the
beauty of animal bodies, we always carry in
our eye the ceconomy of a certain ſpecies;
ſpecies, we pronounce them handſome and
beautiful. In like manner we always conſi-
der the natural and uſual force of the paſ-
ions, when we determine concerning vice
and virtue; and if the paſſions depart very
— ho the common meaſures on either
.
and where the limbs and features obſerve
that proportion, which is common to the
3 1 | (of ies. ad} a 1 : "I 86 | | 4
Book III. O Moral. 49 "i
| fide, they are always diſapprov'd as vicious. S E r. Wh
A man naturally loves his children better than I. —_ |
his nephews, his nephews better than his T Jui 1
couſins, his couſins better than ſtrangers, . 5 is |
where every thing elſe is equal. Hence ariſe arrifcia! =
our common meaſures of duty, in preferring — 4
the one to the other. Our ſenſe of duty al- 3
ways follows the common and natural ane *
of our paſſions. b |
To avoid giving offence, I muſt 1 a
— ————— —— .
- Y
ſerve, that when I deny juſtice: to be a na- ;
tural virtue, I make uſe of the word, natu- |
ral, only as l to e In ano- _
Waben ia is more ed 3 a "hab 11
of virtue; ſo no virtue is more natural than
juſtice. Mankind is an inventive ſpecies;
and where an invention is obvious and abſo-
lutely neceſſary, it may as properly be ſaid
to be natural as any thing that proceeds im-
mediately from original principles, without
the intervention of thought or reflection.
Tho the rules of juſtice be artiſcial, they
are not arbitrary. Nor is the expreſſion
improper to call them Laus of Nature; 8
by natural we underſtand what is common
to any ſpecies, or even if we confine. it to
mean What is e n he ene
ii 0
er m. x sz.
20 4 ugg of Human Nature.
8 C r. 1
| of the "origi 7 ics *
n oper: *
E now to eee two que-
ſtions, viz. concerning the manner,
WYV in which the rules. of juſtice are eftabliſÞ'd by
the artifice of min; and concerning the rea-
fons, which determine us to attribute to the
obſervance or neglect of theſe rules a moral
beauty and deformity. Theſe queſtions will
appear afterwards to be un We ſhell
te. 0,04 anger dy *;
Or all us animals, "oY which this '#lobe
2 W there is none towards whom na-
ture ſeems, at firſt fight, to have exercis'd
mote cruelty than towards man, in the
numberleſs wants and nbeeſſities, with which
ſſme has loaded him, and in the ſſender means,
which the affords to the relieving theſe ne-
ceſſities. In other creatures theſe two par-
ticulars generally compenſate each other.
If we conſider the lion as à voracious and
carnivorons animal, we hall eafily diſcover
him to be very neceflitous ; but if we turn
TREES R Your
-
”-
C2
*
Bock III. of Men
our eye to his make and temper, ark: Iz cr.
his courage, his arms, and his force, we III.
ſhall find, that his advantages hold pro- 55"
portion with his wants. The ſheep and ox 2”
are deprivd of all theſe advantages; but rg.
their appetites are moderate, and their food is
of eaſy purchaſe. In man alone, this un-
natural conjunction of infirmity, and of
neceffity, may be obſerv'd in its greateſt per-
fection. Not only the food, which is re-
ird for his ſuſtenance, flies his ſearch and
be produc'd, but he muſt be poſleſs'd of
cloaths and lodging, to defend him againſt
the injuries of the weather; tho to conſider
him only in himſelf, he is provided ided neither
with arms, nor force, nor other natural
abilities, which are in any mW anſwerable
to ſo many neceſſities. *
Tus by ſociety Abus he ic ale t6 fapply
his defects, and raiſe himſelf up to an equa-
lity with his fellow-creatures, and even ac-
quire a ſuperiority above them. By ſociety
all his infitmities are compenſited; and tho
in that fituation his wants multiply every
moment upon him, yet bis abilities are ſtill
more angmented, and leave him in every |
reſpect more ſatisfied and happy, than us
b for ben 8 |
E 2: | condition,
ach, or at leaſt requires his labour to
II.
GEO
7
ice.
Pit condition, ever to become. When every in-
A 4 Treatfe of Fine Maiure.
dividual perſon labours a- part, and only for
| himſelf, his force is too ſmall to execute any
conſiderable work; his labour being em-
ploy'd in ſupplying all his different neceſſi-
ties, he never attains a perfection in any par-
ticular art; and as his force and ſucceſs are
not at all times equal, the leaſt failure in
either of theſe particulars muſt be attended
with inevitable ruin and miſery. Society
provides a remedy for theſe three incon-
veniences. - By the conjunction of forces,
our power is augmented: By the partition
of employments, our ability encreaſes: And
by mutual ſuccour we are leſs expos'd to
medies are remote and obſcure, another
fortune and accidents. Tis by this addi-
tional force, ability, and ſecurity, * ſo- :
ciety becomes advantageous.
Bur in order to form ſociety, tis re-
quiſite not only that it be advantageous, but
» alſo that men be ſenſible of theſa advantages;
and tis impoſſible, in their wild uncultivated
ſtate, that lhe ſtudy and reflection alone,
they ſhould ever be able to attain this know-
ledge. Moſt fortunately, therefore, there
is conjoind to thoſe. neceſſities, Whoſe re-
neceſſity, Adds having a preſent and more
obwiees . may * be *
tne
Bock III. 0 Moran. 583
the firſt and * principle of human SECT.
ſociety. This neceſſity is no other than that III. \
natutal appetite -betwixt the ſexes, which G the +
unites them together, and Preſerves their origin of
uftice and
union, till a new tye, takes place in their vues.
concern for their common: offspring. This 0
new concern becomes alſo a principle of . mi
union betwixt the parents and offspring, and '
forms a more numerous ſociety; where the SOBRE 1
parents govern by the advantage of their _ n
ſuperior ſtrength and | wiſdom, and at the |
ſame time are reſirain'd in the exerciſe of |
their authority by that natural affection, |
which they bear their children. . In a little _—_— |
time, . cuſtom and habit operating on the 4
tender minds of the children, makes them
ſenſible of the advantages, which they may
reap from ſociety, as well as faſhions them
by degrees for it, by rubbing off thoſe rough 8 161
corners and untoward affections, * pre- it
vent their coalition, Bi
| Fon it muſt. be confeſt, that W 1
8 of human nature may render 170
an union neceſſary, and however thoſe 1 { |
5 paſſions of luſt and natural affection may i |
I ſeem to render it unavoidable; yet there are | 1
. other particulars in our natural temper, and 1
. in our outward circumſtances, which are very i
a incommodious, and are even contrary to the li
| (
'S 9 requiſite
34 A Treatiſe of Human Maturs.
PART requiſite. conjunction. Among the former,
I. we may juſtly eſteem our ſeIfſbneſs to be
= the moſt conſiderable. I am ſenſible, that,
«n47s- generally ſpeaking, the repreſentations of
* this quality have been carried much too far;
and that the deſcriptions, which certain phi-
loſophers delight ſo much to form of man-
kind in this particular, are as wide of na-
ture as any. accounts' of monſters, which we
meet with in fables and romances. So far
from thinking, that men have no affection
for any thing beyond themſelves, I am of
opinion, that tho it be rare to meet wih
one, who loves any fingle perſon better than
himſelf; yet tis as rare to meet with one,
in whom all the kind affections, taken to-
gether, do not over- balance all the ſelfiſh,
Conſult common experience: Do you not
ſe, that tho the whole expence of the fa-
mily be generally under the direction of the
. maſter of it, yet there are few that do not
beſtow the largeſt part of their fortunes on
the pleaſures of their wives, and the educa-
tion of their children, reſerving the ſmalleſt
portion for their own proper uſe and enter-
tainment, This is what we may obſerve
concerning ſuch as have thoſe endearing
ties; and may preſume, that the caſe would
Bock III Of Mori. =
dee ev wth other, wan they pl inSneT,
# like fituation, © +. I
Bor tho this generoſity muſt be acknow- FS,
jedg'd to the benour of human nature, we gi" e,
may at the ſame time remark, that ſo noble reg
an affection, inſtead of fitting men for large
ſocieties, is almoſt as contrary to them, as the j
moſt narrow ſelfiſhneſs, For while each | I
perſon loves himſelf better than any other | mi
| fingle perſon, and in his love to others bears
the greateſt affection to his relations and ac-
quaintance, this muſt neceſſarily produce
an oppoſition of paſſions, and a conſequent
oppoſition of actions; which cannot but be
dangerous to the new-eſtabliſh'd union.
*'Tis however worth while to remark,
that this contrariety of paſſions wou d be
attended with but ſmall danger, did it not
concur with a peculiarity in our outward cir-
cumſtances, which affords it an opportunity
of exerting itſelf, There are three different
ſpecies of goods, which we ate poſleſs'd of;
the internal ſatisfaction of our mind, the
external advantages of our body, and the
enjoyment of ſuch poſſeſſions as we have
acquir'd by our induſtry and good fortune,
We are perfectly ſecure in the enjoyment of
the firſt. The, ſecond may be raviſh'd from
_ but can be of no advantage to him who
| E 4 deprives
— a _ — 2
——
— 2 = — — — 22 8 —_— — - " a ” —— 2 ——— —— — —
* 8 — park. - — : — — * IS — — . CC —— — ut — —— Sg <q
— .. rr rr — . L a - <——_—
4 8 _ > - — - 5 < _—_— 7 a = a — — — — 2 — EDERny 2 —
pu — — — — P — 1 — 2 * pry m_ 4 = —
2 „ — > — — — — A = — — — —
5 8 — 6 . _ - —
— ——
—— — — — = — — 1 — * + — — * ay
— 1 5 — « . *
— 5 — —
— , W o ITT.
f
56 A Treatiſe of Human Maura,
Pax x deptives us of them. The We
II. expos d to the violence of others, and may
os be transferr'd. without ſuffering any loſs or
Hh. ia: alteration; while at the, ſame time, there is
not a ſufficient quantity of them to ſupply
every one's deſires and neceſſities. As the
improvement, therefore, of theſe goods is
the chief advantage of ſociety, ſo the inſta-
bility of their poſſeſſion, along with their
Nau i is the chief impediment.
Ix vain ſhou'd we expect to find, in un-
Cultivated nature, a remedy to this inconve-
nience; or hope: for any inartificial principle
of the haman mind, which might controul
thoſe partial affections, and make us over-
come the temptations ariſing from our cir-
cumſtances. The idea of juſtice: can never
| ſerve. to this purpoſe, or be taken for a na-
-tural principle, capable of inſpiring men
with an equitable conduct towards each
| other, That virtue, as it is now underſtood,
© wou'd never have been dream'd of among
rude and ſavage men, For the notion of in-
Jury or injuſtice implies an immorality or
yice committed againſt ſome other perſon:
And as every immorality is deriv'd from ſome
defect or unſoundneſs of the paſſions, and as
this defect muſt be judg d of, in a great mea-
ſure, from the ordinary courſe of nature in
f an * 37
Book III.
to know, whether we be guilty of any im-
morality, with regard to others, by conſider- of IN
ing the natural, and uſual force of thoſe 4
veral affections, which are directed . proven
them. Now it appears, that in the original
frame of our mind, our ſtrongeſt attention is
confin'd to ourſelves; z our next is extended
to our relations and acquaintance ; and tis
only the weakeſt which reaches to ſtrapgers
and indifferent perſons... This - partiality, -
then, and unequal affection, muſt not only
have an influence on our behaviour and con-
duct in ſociety, but even on our ideas of
vice and virtue; ſo as to make us regard
any remarkable tranſgreſſion of ſuch a de-
gree of partiality, either by too great an en-
4 largement, or contraction of the affections,
as vicious and immoral. This we may ob-
ſer ve in our common judgments CAncerne
ing actions, where we blame a perſon, who
either centers all his affections in his fami-
ly, or is ſo. regardleſs of them, as, in any
oppoſition of intereſt, to give the preference
to a ſtranger, or mere chance acquaintance.
From all which it follows, that our natural
uncultivated ideas of morality, inſtead. of
proyiding a remedy for the partiality of our
affections, do rather conform themſelyes to
that
ik |
433. 4 f
ho confines e cath beeay 8 r.
A Naas of Bases —
.
8 influence.
Tur remedy, then, is not deriv'd from
* nature, but from artifice or more properly
gon nature provides a remedy in the
Judgment and underſtanding, for what is
and incommodious in the affec-
tions. For when men, from their early e-
dacation in ſociety, have become ſenſible of
the infinite advantages that reſult from it,
and have beſides acquir'd a new affection to
company and converſation ;\ and when they
have obſeryd, that the principal diſturbance
in ſociety ariſes from thoſe goods, which we
call external, and from their looſeneſs and
eafy tranfition from one perſon to another ;
they muſt ' ſeek for a remedy, by putting
goods, as far as poſſible, on the ſame
rheſe
footing with the fix'd and conſtant advan-
tages of the mind and body. This can be
done after no other manner, than by a con-
vention enter'd into by all the members of
the ſociety to beſtow ſtability on the poſſeſ-
fron of thoſe external goods, and leave
every one in the peaceable enjoyment of
what he may acquite by his fortune and in-
duſtry. By this means, every one knows
What he may ſafely poſſeſs; and the paſſions
are reſtrain d in their partial and contradi-
cory
}
J
7
and behaviour. ©
Bock I \ v Of Arn
trary to theſe paſſions; for if ſo, it cou d
never be enter d into, nor maintain'd; but QL.
ras om oye oy woman
petuous' movement. Inſtead of depatting vg.
eee
— Abe, we cannot better exaſalt
both "theſe intereſts, than by ſach a conven».
tion; becauſe ĩt ĩs by that means we maintain
neceſſary to their well-
being and ſubſiſtence, as well as to our own.
Tus convention is not of the nature of
ſociety, which is ſo
4 promiſe: For even promiſes themſelves, as
we ſhall ſee - afterwards, ariſe from human
conventions. It is only à general ſenſe of
ad Hicks induces them to regulate. their
conduct by certain rules. I obſerve, that it
will be for my intereſt to leave another in the
poſſeffion of his goods, provided he will act
in the fame manner with regard to me. He
is ſenſible of a like intereſt in the
of his conduct. When this common ſenſe
of intereſt is mutually expreſs'd, and is known
to both, it produce a fuitable reſolution
And * this may property
*
39
Rory motions. Nor ny WOK.
II.
3
—
„ CRESTS © > Y =
2 * — bs 2 — *
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oa E +.
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60
i I
I Treatife of Hujan Nativre!
PART betwixt us, tho without the in
of
a promiſe; ſince the actions — of us
Ge have a reference to thoſe of the other, and
ö 1
are perform d upon the ſuppoſition, that
A ſomething i is to be perform d on the other
part. Two men, who pull the oars of a
boat, do it by an agreement or convention,
tho they have never given promiſes to each
other. Nor is the rule concerning the ſta-
man conventions, that it-ariſes gradually, and
our fellows, and gives us a confidence of the
our repeated experience of the inconveni-
ences of tranſgreſſing it. On the _ *
this. experience aſſures us Kill more, that
ſenſe of intereſt has become common to all
future regularity of their conduct: And 'tis
only on the expectation, of this, that our
moderation and abſtinence are founded. In
like manner are languages gradually eſta-
bliſh d by human conventions without any
promiſe, 1n like manner do gold and filver
become the common meaſures of exchange,
and are eſteem d ſufficient payment for mar
is of a hundred times their value
_ AFTER, this convention, concerning "4
ſtinence from ty; ene! AE. — is
— £4
AS . 2
19 el
WS we . min e MM & i
A Bock III. * „een wry Gr
a ſtability in his poſſeffions, there —
ately ariſe the ideas of juſtice and inju-
ſtice 3 as alſo choſe of (property, right, and NY nh.
obligation. The latter are altogether unin- 2 25 *
telligible without firſt underſtanding the property.
former. / Our property is nothing but thoſe
goods, whole conſtant — is eſtabliſh'd
by the laws of ſociety; that is, by the laws
of juſtice; +Thoſe, therefore, ho make uſe
of::the-wordy property, ot right, or ob ga-
tion, before they have explain'd the - ori- =
gin of juſtioe, or een make uſe of vygin
that explication, are guilty of a very Pr? |
fallacy, and; can never reaſon upon àny ſos
lid foundation. A man's property is ſome
object related to him. This relation is not
natural, but moral, and founded on juſtice:
Tis very prepoſterous, thetefore, to ima-
gine, that we can have any idea of property,
without fully comprehending the nature of
juſtice, and ſhewing its origin in the artifice
and:contrivance of men. The origin af ju-
Nice:qxplains that of property, The ſame
artiflce: gives riſe to both. As out firſt and
moſt naturab ſentiment of morals i is founded
on the nature: of our paſſions, and -giyes the
Preference to ourſelves and friends, above
ſtrangers ; tis impoſſible; there can be natu-
3 thing as a-fix'd- right or pro-
dh | | perty,
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62
A the oppoſite paſſions of men
e e eee
cord. All the other paſſions, beſid this of
| Intereſt, are either eaffly reſtraimd, or are
A Treatiſe of Haan nan Nature
impel them in contrary directions, and are
5 285 nor reſtrain's by any-convention or ee
A LU * 5
No ene n babe) that cl.
for the diſtinction of property, and for the
ability of poſſeſſion, is of all circumſtances
the moſt neceſſary to the eſtabliſhment of
human ſociety, and that after the a nt
for the fixing and obſerving I chis rule,
there remains little or nothing to be done
not of ſuch pernicious conſequenoe, when
indulg d. Vanity is rather to be eſteem da
men. Pic and he are to be'qorifider'd in
the fame light. And as to ey and revenge,
tho! pernicious, they operate oüly by inter-
. yals, and are directed againſt particular per-
ſons, whom we confider as our fuperiors'or
enemies. This avidity alone, of acquiring
neareſt friends, is inſatiable, perpetual, uni-
vertal, and directly deſtructivr of ſociety.
There ſcarce is any one, who is not actuated
un; and n who has not
—
4 meg | any
|
dock Mor 2 N
any reſtraint, * gives way to its fil andSzc Ty
moſt natural movements. So that upon the
wbl. we are to eſteem the difficulties in C2
e- e IO to be greater on Foe
leſs, according to thoſe we encounter. Wn It grey ©
gulating and reſtraining this paſſion.
Tis certain, hea e of tha bus
man mind has both a ſufficient force, and a
proper direction to counter-balance the love -
of gain, and render men fit members of
ſociety, by making them abſtain from the
poſſeſſions of others. Benevalence to ſtrꝶn -
gers is too weak for this purpaſe; and 88 to
the other; paſſions, they rather inflame this
avidity, when we obſerve, that the larger our
poſſeſſions are, the more ability we have of
gratifying all our appetites. There is no
paſſion, therefore, capable of controlling the
intereſted affection, but the very affection it
ſelf, by an alteration of its direction. Now
this alteration muſt neceſſarily take place up-
on the leaſt reflection; ſince tis evident, that
i wh much eee N
the ſolitary and forlorn condition; which
muſt follow upon violence and an univerſal
e „
III. ing
vances in 22 . chan 4,6
— * —
1
|
|
nnen my 4 ö
1
64 A Tres of Human mb
Pax r ing the ickednelF or goodneſs of *
II. nature, enters not in the leaſt into that other
Seen de on of ſ
E — any hag: to — orgh
Me... 3 the degrees of men's ſagacity Or folly. For
whether the paſſion of ſelf-intereſt be eſteem-
_ ed vicious or virtuous, tis all a caſe; fince
itſelf alone reſtrains it: So that if it be vir-
tuous, men become ſocial by e virtue; |
if vicious, | their vice has the ſame effect.
No as tis by eſtabliſhing the rule for
un bl of poſſeſſion, that this paſſion
reſtrains itſelf; if that rule be very abſtruſe,
and of difficult invention; ſociety muſt be
effect of many ages. But if it be found,
that nothing can be more ſimple and obvi-
ous than that rule; that every parent, in order
to pteſerve peace among his children, muſt
3 it; and that theſe: firſt rudiments
f jaſtice muſt every day be impro d, as
" the ſociety enlarges: If all this appear cvi-
dent, as it certainly: muſt, we: may. conclude,
thats utterly impoſſible for men to remain
N any conſderable time in that ſavage condi-
e 0-445nip , which precedes. ſociety; but that his
—_— very-firſt. ſtate and ſituation may juſtly be
'eſtoem'd ſocial. This, however, hinders not,
but-hat philoſophers. g, if they leſs
—_——
— P 6 i ITO Tor fi, on DEE ART ER TO EY
rh.
= 65. &. &-
re
of
te
[06]
in
to
ab
gi
9
Dock l f Mn, Of
extend their Riſotiing to te appr feof
tature ; provided they allow it to be a mere
philoſophicat fiction, which never had, and A
never cou'd have any reality. Human £7 *
nature being composed of two principal vg
parts, which are requiſite in all its actions;
the affections and underſtanding; ; 'tis cer-
tain, that the blind motions of the former,
without the direction of the latter, ihcapa-
citate men for ſociety: And it may be al-
low/d ns to conffder ſeparately the effects,
that reſult from the ſeparate operations of
theſe two component parts of the mind.
The ſame liberty may be permitted to mo-
ral, which is allow'd to natural philoſophers ;
and *tis very uſual with the latter to conſider
ay motion as compounded and conſiſting
of two parts ſeparate from each other, the?
at the fame time they acknowledge it to be
in Itſelf uncompounded and inſeparable:
Tu 18 fate of nature, therefore, is to be
regarded as a mere fiction, not bullke that
of the golden age, which pots” Rave inyen-
ted; only with this diffctence, that the for-
cher is deferib d' as full of war, violence and
imuſtice; whereas the latter is' painted out
to us, as the moſt charming and moſt peace-
able condition, chat can dei be ima-
ein d. "THe Bibs, in that Ak age of na-
Vor. III. F ture,
66
A Naas of Human Nature.
Pant tare, were ſo temperate, _ if we may believe
the. poets, that there was no neceſſity for men
Of juſtice to provide themſelves with cloaths and
= *7*- houſes as a ſecurity againſt the violence of
heat and cold. The rivers flow'd with wine
and milk: The oaks yielded honey ; and
nature ſpontaneouſly produc'd her greateſt
delicacies. | Nor were theſe the chief advan-
tages of that happy age. The ſtorms and
tempeſts were not alone. remov'd from na-
ture ; but thoſe more furious tempeſts were
unknown to human. breaſts, - which now
cauſe ſuch uproar, and engender ſuch confu-
ſion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, ſelfiſhneſs,
were never heard of: Cordial affection,
compaſſion, ſympathy, were the only move-
ments, with which the human mind was yet
acquainted. Even the diſtinction of mine
and Yhine was baniſh'd from that happy race
of mortals, and carry'd with them the very
| Notions of 25167 and obligation, juſtice
and injuſtice.
Tu Is, no doubt, is to be regarded as an
idle fiction; but yet deſerves our attention,
becauſe nothing can more evidently ſhew
2 origin of thoſe virtues, which are the
ſubjects of our preſent enquiry. I have al-
ready obſery d, that juſtice takeg its riſe from
human conventions ; and that theſe are in-
| | / tended
„
*
Book III. / Moral.
57
tended as a a to ſome CE
which proceed from the concurrence of cer-
II.
tain qualities of the human mind with the &
ſituation of external objects. The qualities f
of the mind are ſelfiſbneſt and limited gene- —
rofity : And the ſituation of external objects
is their eaſy change, join'd to their ſcarcity
in compariſon of the wants and deſires of
men. But however philoſophers may have
been be wilder d in thoſe ſpeculations, - poets
have been guided more infallibly, by a cer-
tain taſte or common inſtinct, which in
moſt kinds of reaſoning goes farther than
any of that art and philoſophy, with which
we have been yet acquainted.
perceiv'd, if every man had a tender re-
gard for another, or if nature ſupplied abun-
dantly all our wants and deſires, that the
jealouſy of intereſt, which juſtice ſuppoſes,
could no longer have place; nor would there
be any occaſion. for thoſe diſtinctions and
limits of property and poſſeſſion, which at
preſent: are in uſe among mankind. En-
creaſe to a ſufficient degree the benevolence
of men, or the bounty of nature, and you
render juſtice uſeleſs, by ſupplying its place
with much nobler virtues, and more valuable
bleflings. The ſelfiſnneſs of men is animated
VA the iow: poſſeſſions we have, in propon-
* ie
They eaſily
ice —
68
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PA R I tion to our wants; and tis to reſtrain this
II.
2 felfiſhneſs, that men have been oblig'd to
| Of uf Sund ſeparate themſelves from the community,
five. and thoſe of others,
%. and to diftinguiſh betwixt their own hoods
No need we have recourſe to the chien
of poets to learn this; but beſide the reaſon
_of the thing, may diſcover the fame truth
by common experience and obſervation. "Tis
eaſy' to remark, that a cordial affecton ren-
ders all things common among friends; and
that married people in particulaf mutually
loſe their property, and are unacquainted
with the mine and thine, which are ſo neceſ-
fary, and yet cauſe ſuch diſturbance in hu-
man ſociety, The ſame effect ariſes from
any alteration in the circumſtances of man-
kind; as when there is ſuch a plenty of any
ching as faticies all the defires of men: In
which caſe the diſtinction of property is en-
tirely loft; and every thing remains in com-
mon. This we may obſerve with regard to
air and water, tho the moſt valuable of all
external objects; and may eaſily conclude,
that if men were ſupplied with every thing
im the ſame abundance, or if every one had
_ the ſame affection and tender regard for every
one as for himſelf; juſtice and injuſtice would
je mea unknown * mankind.
HRE
Book 1 III. _ * 69
\
rn then 4 is a We which, 18x67.
think, may be regarded as certain, that 'tis .,
only from the ſelfiſhneſs and conſin d genervſty & th © 'Of —
of men, along with the ſcanty proviſion nature . ff , 8
bas made for his wants, that juſtice derives property
its origin, If we look backward 'we ſhall
find, that this propoſition beſtows' an addi-
tional force on ſome of thoſe obſervations,
which we have already N on bn
fubjed.
Firſt, we may: cole Kon M, that *
road to public intereſt, or a ſtrong exten-
five benevolence, is not our firſt and original
motive for the obſervation of the rules of
>; fince tis allow'd, that if men were
— with ſuch a benevolence, theſe rules
| | eh — never have been dreamt of.
| - | Secondly, we may*conclude from the ſame
principle, that the ſenſe of juſtice is not
; founded on reaſon, or on the diſcovery of
) certain connexions and relations of ideas,
1 which are eternal, immutable, and univer-
, ſally obligatory. For fince it is confeſt, that
p ſuch an alteration as that above-mention'd,
d in the temper and circumſtances of mankind,
y wou'd entirely alter our duties and obligations;
d tis neceſſary upon the comtnon ſyſtern, that the
bd virtue it deriv'd from reaſon,” to ſhew
E 3997 F 3 . the
70 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART the change which this muſt produce in the
I- AT. relations and ideas. But tis evident, that
2 juſtice Gr rhe the only cauſe, why the extenſive generoſity
ents (ee of man, and the perfect abundance of every
thing, wou d deſtroy the very idea of ju-
ſtice, is becauſe they render it uſeleſs; and
that, on the other hand, his confin d bene-
volence, and his neceſſitous condition, give
riſe to that virtue, only by making it requi-
ſite; to the publick intereſt, and to that of
every individual. Twas therefore a concern
for our own, and the publick intereſt, which
made us eſtabliſh the laws of juſtice; and
nothing can be more certain, than that it is
not any relation of ideas, which gives us this
concern, but our impreſſions and ſentiments,
without which every thing in nature is per-
fectly indifferent to us, and can never in the
leaſt affect us. The ſenſe of juſtice, there-
fore, is not founded on our ideas, but on our
impreſſions. 3
: Thirdly, we may farther. 3 the, - ag
going propoſition, that thoſe impreſſions, which
give riſe to, this ſenſe of Juſtice, are | not na-
tural to the mind of man, but ariſe from: ar-
tifice and human conventions,, For ſince any
conſiderable alteration of temper and cir-
cumſtances deſtroys equally juſtice and inju-
Rice ; ; and Ance. ſuch an; alteration *
effect
Book . 0 Morals, by 71
effect only by changing our own and the 88 T.
publick intereſt; it follows, that the firſt *
eſtabliſhment of the rules of juſtice depends &.. Ge.
on theſe different intereſts. But if men pur- 97
ſu' d the publick intereſt naturally, and with preperq.
a hearty affection, they wou'd never have
dream'd of reſtraining each other by theſe
rules; and if they purſu'd their own inte-
reſt, without any precaution; they wou'd
run head- long into every kind of injuſtice;
and violence. Theſe rules, therefore, are ar-
tificial, and ſeek their end in an oblique and
indirect manner; nor is the intereſt, which
gives riſe to them, of a kind that cou'd be
purſu'd by the natural and 8 — paſſions
of men.
To 8 this more © evident, aller; that
tho' the rules of juſtice are eſtabliſh'd merely
by intereſt, - their connexion with intereſt is
ſomewhat ſingular, and is different from
what may be obſerv'd on other occaſions.
A ſingle act of juſtice is frequently contrary
to public intereſt; and were it to ſtand alone,
without being follow'd by other acts, may,
in itſelf, be very prejudicial to ſociety, When
a man of merit, of a beneficent- diſpoſition,
reſtores a great fortune to a miſer, or a ſedi-
tious bigot, he has ated juſtly and laudably,
T F 4 | every
72
+” *
ad 0%
A Treatiſe o Human Mau,
een fingle a8: of julie, onder abe,
more conducive to private intereſt, than to
e public; and tis eaſily conceiy'd how a man
may impoveriſh himſelf by a ſignal inſtance
af integrity, and have reaſon to wiſh, that
with regard to that ſingle act, the laws of
juſtice were for a moment ſuſpended in the
univerſe. But however ſingle acts of ju-
ſtice may be contrary, either to public or
private intereſt, tis certain, that the hole
plan or ſcheme is highly conducive, or in-
deed abſolutely requiſite, both to the. ſyppart
of ſociety, and the well-being of every in-
dividual. Tis impoſſible to ſeparate the
good from the ill. Property muſt be ſtable,
and muſt be fix d by general rules. Tho
in one inſtance the public be a ſufferer, this
momentary ill is amply compenſated by the
ſteady proſecution of. the rule, and by the
peace and order, which it eſtabliſhes in ſo-
ciety. And even every individual perſon
muſt find himſelf a gainer, on ballancing
the account; ſince, without juſtice, ſociety
muſt immediately diſſolve, and every one
muſt fall into that ſavage and ſolitary con-
dition, which is infinitely worſe than the
in ſociety, | When therefore men have had
„
worſt ſituation that can poſſibly be ſuppos d
experience enough to obſerve, that whatever
E * may
2
Bock Ill.
may be the conſequence of any — |
juſtice, perform'd by a ſingle perſon, yet
the whole ſyſtem of actions, concurr'd in by G. WY
the whole ſociety, is infinitely advantagoous £7 9.7%.
to the whole, and to every part; 1
long before juſtice. and property take place.
Eyery member of ſociety is ſenſible of this
intereſt : Every one expreſſes this ſenſe. to
his fellows, along with the reſolution he. has
taken of — his actions by it, on con-
dition that others will do the ſame. No
more is requiſite to induce any one of them
to perform an act of juſtice, who has the
firſt opportunity. This becomes an example
to others. And thus juſtice eſtabliſhes it -
ſelf by a kind of convention or agreement;
that is, by a ſenſe of intereſt, ſuppos d to be
common to all, and where every ſingle act
is perform'd in expectation that others are
to perform the like. Without ſuch a con-
vention, no one wou'd ever have dream d,
that there was ſuch a virtue as juſtico, oÞ |
have been induc'd to conform his actions to
it. Taking any ſingle act, my juſtice way
be pernicious in every reſpe& ; and tie only: -
upon the ſuppoſition, that others are 10 imitate
my example, that I can be induc'd to em-
Y - or
4 Treati ” of W Mature.
od r or afford me any motives to conform - * Sie
1 its rates.
. WI come now to the ſecond queſtion we
= An 'vis. Why we annex the idea of vir-
tue to juſtice, and of vice to injuſtice. This
queſtion will not detain us long after the
principles, which we have already eſtabliſh'd.
All we can fay of it at preſent will be diſ-
patch'd'in a few words: And for farther ſa-
tisfaction, the reader muſt wait till we come
to the third part of this book. The natural
obligation to Juſtice, vig. intereſt, has been
fully explain'd; but as to the ura! obli-
gation, or the ſentiment of right and wrong,
'twill firſt be requiſite to examine the natu-
ral virtues, before we can give a Full and *
aun account of it. 2 OF |
AFTER men have found eyes
that their ſelfiſhneſs and confin'd generolity, K
acting at their liberty, totally incapacitate
them for ſociety; and at the ſame time have
obſerv'd, that ſociety's neceſſary to to the ſa-
tisfaction of thoſe very paſſions, they are na-
turally induc'd; to lay themſelves under the
reſtraint of ſuch rules, as may render their
commerce more ſafe and commodious. To
the impoſition then, and obſervance of theſe
* both in general, and in every particu-
lar
Book III. Of: Morals:
lar inſtance, pats are at - firſt; — lanov'd
by a regard to intereſt; and this motive, on II..
the firſt formation of ſociety, is ſufficiently N
ſtrong and forcible. But when ſociety Wage —
become numerous, and has encreas d to a projery.
tribe or nation, this intereſt is more remote;
nor do men ſo readily perceive,” that diſor-
der and confuſion follow upon every breach
of theſe rules, as in a more narrow and con-
we may frequently loſe ſight of that in-
tereſt, which we have in maintaining or-
der, and may follow a leſſer and more pre-
ſent intereſt, we never fail to obſerve the
prejudice we receive, either mediately or im-
mediately, from the injuſtice of others; as
not being in that caſe either blinded by paſ-
ſion, or byaſs d by any contrary: temptation.
Nay when the injuſtice is ſo diſtant from us,
as no way to affect our intereſt, it ſtill diſ-
pleaſes us; becauſe we conſider it as preju-
dicial to human ſociety, and pernicious to
every one that approaches the petſon guilty. +
of it. We partake of their uneaſineſs by. - -
ſympathy; and as every thing, which gives un-
eaſineſs in human actions, upon the general
ſurvey, is calbd Vice, and whatever produces
ſatisfaction, in the ſame manner, is denomi-
nated Virtue; this is the reaſon hy the ſenſe
of moral g
ſtice and: injuſtice. And tho this ſenſe, 2
tracted ſociety, But tho' in our own actions
good and evil follows upon ju-
|
[
1
1
75 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pax x. the preſent caſe, be deriv d ouly from con-
II. templating the actions of others, yet we fail
e not to extend it even to out on actions.
. The general rule reaches beyond thoſe in-
| _ Nances, from which it aroſe z while at tho
ſame time we naturally /mpathize with
others in the ſentiments they entertain of us.
Thus. falf-intereſt is the original motive to the
eſtabliſhment of juflice a but a-ſyrapathy with
public nn
probation, hinab attend thut virtue. : ©
Tuo this progreſs of the Satiments be
— whop in order to govern men;
re: eaſily, and preſerve! peace! in human
-en, c. pry have endeavout d to produce an
1 kee, oſteerm for juſtice, and an abhortence of in-
| We - This, no doubt, muſt have its ef-
ſect; but nothing can be mote evident, than
| that the matter has been carry'd too far by
94e co ie * certain writers on morals, who ſceim to have
E, employ d their wamoſt efforts ts ectirpate alt
ame ſenſe of virtue from among mankind. Any
— artifce-of politicians may aſſiſt nature in the
1 producing of thoſe ſentimemts, which ſhe
ſuggeſts to us, and may even on ſome o
fions, produce alone an approbatſon or
eſteem far any perticular actiom; but tis
napoflible it Mouid be the-ſote quis of the
Kclinetion we make betwixt view dnl$'vireue,
For
"0 ace, 83
Bock III.
f Ira
For if natute did not aid us in 3
culat, twou'd be in vain for politicians. to
talk of honourable of diſbonouruble, praiſi- wy or
worthy or blameable, Theſe words wou d 8* 95s.
be perfectly unintelligible, and . wou'd no
more have any idea annex d to them, than
if they were of a tongue perfectly unknown
to us. The utmoſt politicians can perform,
is, to extend the natural ſentiments beyond
their original bounds; but ſtill nature muſt
farniſh the materials, and give us ſome no-
tion of moral diſtinctions.
As publick praiſe and blame encreaſe our
eſteem for juſtice ; ſo private education and
inſtruction contribute to the fame effect.
For as parents eaſily obſerve, that a man is
the more uſeful, both to himſelf and others,
the greater degree of probity and honour he
is endow'd with; and that thoſe principles
have greater force, when cuſtom and edu-
_ cation aſſiſt intereſt and reflection: For theſe
reaſons they are induc'd to inculcate on their
children, from their carlieft infancy, the
principles of probity, and teach them to ro-
gard the obſervance of thoſe rules, by which
ſociety is maintain'd, as worthy and honour-
able, and their violation as baſe and infa-
mons. By this means the ſentiments of
flick at
property.
78
4 Treatife of Human Nile
PART and acquire ſuch firmneſs and ſolidity, that
I.
they may fall little ſhort of thoſe principles,
| Of; Ne e Which are the moſt eſſential to our natures,
2
ice.
and the moſt deeply radicated i in our inter-
; wal conſtitution, -
- Wrar farther contributes to encreaſe
heir ſolidity, i is the intereſt of our reputation,
after the opinion, that a merit or demerit at-
tends juſtice or injuſtice, is once firmly eſta-
bliſh'd among mankind. There is nothing,
which touches us more nearly than our re-
putation, and nothing on which our reputa-
tion more depends than our conduct, with
relation to the property of others. For this
reaſon, every one, who has any regard to his
character, or who intends to live on good
terms with mankind, muſt fix an inviolable
law to himſelf, never, by any temptation, to
be induc'd to violate thoſe principles, which
are eſſential ro a man of probity and honour,
I sHALL make only one obſervation be-
fore I leave this ſubject, viz. that tho' I aſ-
ſert, that in the fate of nature, or that ima-
- ginary ſtate, which preceded ſociety, there
be neither juſtice nor injuſtice, yet I aſſert
not, that it was allowable, in ſuch a ſtate, to
violate the property of others. I only main-
tain, that there was no ſuch thing as pro-
—_— and conſequently cow'd-be no ſuch
thing
as *
Book III. Of Moral. 9
thing as juſtice, or injuſtice. I ſhall have oc- S Er.
caſion to make a ſimilar reflection with re- II.
gard to promiſes, when I come to treat of L
them; and I hope this reflection, when duly gin oj
weigh'd,- will ſuffice to remove all odium + 3
from the foregoing opinions, with n to
juſtice and injuſtice.
0 B D %
of the - rules, which determine
WP a9 4-7
TH O' the eſtabliſhment of the EAR SECT.
x concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion, III.
be not only uſeful, but even abſolutely! ne-].
ceſſary to human ſociety, it can never ſerve
to any purpoſe, while it remains in ſuch ge-
neral terms. Some method muſt be ſhewn,
by which we may diſtinguiſh what particular
goods are to be aſſign d to each particular per-
ſon, while the reſt of mankind are excluded
from their poſſeſſion and enjoyment. Our
next buſineſs, then, muſt be to diſcover the
reaſons which modify this general rule, and
fit it to the common uſe and nn of _
world. |
+ Ta ens 3 hole ee not
deri d from any utility or advantage, which
either
80
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR I either the particulur perſon or the public
may reap from his enjoyment of any purti-
Gch . culur goods, beyond what wou' d teſult from
Als.
2 * the poſſeſſion of them by any other perſon.
Tete better, no doubt, that every one were
poſſeſsd of what is moſt ſuitable to him,
and proper for his uſe : Bat beſides, that this
relation of fitneſs may be common to ſeve-
ral at once, tis liable to ſo many contro-
verſies, and men are ſo partial and paſſionate
in judging of theſ$ controverſies, that ſach
a looſe and uncertain rule wou'd be abſo-
lutely incompatible with the peace of hu-
man ſociety. The convention concerning
| the ſtability of poſſeſſion is enter'd into, in
order to cut off all occafions of diſcord and
contention; and this end wou'd never be at-
tain'd, were we allow'd to apply this rule
differently in evety particular caſe, according
to every particular utility, which might be
diſcover'd in ſuch an application. Juſtice,
in her decifions, never regards the firneſs or
usifitnels of objects to particular perſons, but
condudts horſelf by more extenſive views.
Whether a man be generous, or a miſer, he
is equally well receiv'd. by her, and obtaitis
with the fame facility a deciſion in his f-
vours, even for what is: bag TITS to
* ; |
Ir
Bock III. "Of Morals.
Jr .
$
I follows; therefore, that the m—
rule, that 500 Nun mut be fable, is not ap- III.
ply d b by particular judgments, but by other 7
e rules, which muſt extend to the
rules,
which de-
W focity, and be inflexible either by min.
| : ſpite ot favour; To illuſtrate this, 1 propoſe Nerd
the following inſtance. I firſt conſider men
in their ſavage and ſolitary condition; and
ſuppoſe, that being ſenfible of the miſery of
that 15 and foreſceing advantages that
wou 'd reſult from ſociety, they ſeek each
other's J company, and make an offer of mu-
tual protection and affiſtance. I alſo fup-
poſe, that they are endow'd with ſuch ſaga-
city as immediately to perceiye, that the chief
impediment to this project of ſociety and
partnerſhip lies in the avidity an nd ſelfiſhneſs
of their natural temper ; to remedy which,
they enter into a convention for the ſtability
of poſſeſſion, and for mu tual reſtraint and
forbearance. I am ſenſible, that this me-
thod of proceeding is not altogether natural ;
but beſides that I here only ſuppoſe tho
reflections to be form d atonce, which in fat
ariſe inſenfibly and by degrees ; beſides this,
I fay, tis very pole, that ſeveral perſons,
being by different accidents ' ſeparated from
the ſocieties, to which they formerly be-
long d, may be oblig d to form a new ſociety
Vor. III. G among
82
"IL.
and i *
PIE
Of juſtice
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Parr among themſelves; in which caſe they wa
entirely in the ſituation above- mention d.
'Tis evident, then, that their firſt diffi-
culty, in this tuation, after the general
convention for the eſtabliſhment. of ſociety,
and for the conſtancy of poſſeſſion, is, how
to ſeparate their poſſeſſions, and aſſign to
each his particular portion, which he muſt
for the future inalterably enjoy. This diffi-
culty will not detain them long; but it muſt
immediately occur te- hem as the moſt
natural expedient, that every one continue
to enjoy what he is at preſent maſter of, and
that property or conſtent poſſeſſion be con-
join'd to the immediate poſſeſſion. Such is
the effect of cuſtom, that it not only recon-
ciles us to any thing we have long enjoy d,
but even gives us an affection for it, and
makes us prefer it to other objects, which
may be more valuable, but are leſs known
to us. What has long lain under our eye,
and has often been employ'd to our advan-
tage, that we are always the moſt unwil-
ling to part with; but can eaſily live with-
out poſſeſſions, which we never have en-
Joy'd, and are not accuſtom'd to. Tis evi-
dent, therefore, that men wou'd eaſily ac-
quieſce i in this expedient, that every one con-
Tinue to enjoy what be is at preſets ke ob of ;
Book III. Of Morals, 83
and this is the reaſon, why they wou'd ſo SET.
naturally agree in preferring it *. 24 518 INF
Bur we may obſerve, that tho the rule FY
of the aſſignment of property to the preſerit'rale,
1 8 natural, and A that means uſe 'wwhich de-
termine
82 PIT en B+ ful, Ln.
1 rn n than w
a number of cauſes pi by rem for the ſame —
menon, to determine which is the principal and predominant.
There ſeldom is any very preciſe argument to fix our choice,
and men muſt be content 5 D
, ariſing from analogy, a compariſon ilar in-
— Thus, in the preſent caſe, —— no doubt, mo-
tives of public intereſt for moſt of the rules, which determine
roperty z but ſtill I ſuſpect, that theſe rules are prin-
cipally fix d by the imagination, or the more frivolous pro-
perties of our thought and conception. I ſhall continue to
explain theſe cauſes, leaving it to the reader's choice, whether
he will prefer thoſe deriv'd from publick utility, or thoſe de-
riv'd from the imagination. We ſhall n the right
of the yur” th ſſeſſor.
6 08 aq which (a) I — already obſery'd in 1
— two objects in a cloſe relation to
each — the mind is — to a — to them any additional
relation, in order to compleat the union; and this inclination
is ſo ſtrong, as often to make us run into errors (ſuch as that
of the conjunRion of thought and matter) if we find that they
can ſerve to that purpoſe. Many of our impreſſions are in-
capable of place or local poſition 3 and yet thoſe very im-
preſſions we ſuppoſe 0 have a local conjunction with the im-
preſſions of ſight — touch, merely becauſe they are con-
joigd by cauſation, and are already united in the imagina- |
tion. Since, therefore, we can feign a new. relation, and *
even an abſurd, one, in order to compleat any union, will
eaſily be imagin'd, that if there be any relations, which de-
— on the mind, *twill readily conjoin them to any pre,
ceding relation, and unite, by a new. bond, ſuch objects as
have already an union in the fancy. Thus for inſtance, we
never fail, in our arrangement of bodies, to place Bote which
are * in contiguity to each other, or at leaſt in, cor:
reſpondent
(a) BookT. Part IV. Se. 5, *
84. 2 Treatiſe of. Human Mature.
PART ful, yet its utility extends not beyond the
II.
firſt formation of ſociety ; nor wou'd any
n thing be more pernicious, than the. conſtant
end . obſervance of it; by which reſtitution. wou d
ice.
be excluded; and every injuſtice-wou'd be
authoriz d and rewarded. We muſt, there-
fore, ſeek for ſome other cirexibitce, that
may give riſe to property after ſociety is once
eſtabliſh'd ; and of this kind, I find four
moſt conſiderable, viz. Occupation, Preſcrip-
tion, Acceſſion, and Succeffion. We ſhall
reſpondent aſus cf views: twins we bel a -CitiafaQtion in
joining the relation'of contiguity to that of - reſemblance, or
the reſemblance of ſituation to that of qualities. Aud this 1
eaſily accounted for from the known properties of human
nature. When the mind is determin'd > Join certain objects,
but-undetermin'd- in its choice of the particular objects, it na-
turally turns its exe to ſuch as are related together. They
ate already united in the mind: They preſent themſelves at
the ſame time to the conception; and inſtead of requiring any
new reaſon for their conjunction, it 'wou'd require a very
ful reaſon to make us over- look this natural wn
we ſhall have occaſion to explain more fully ,
| wh we come to treat of beauty, In the mean time, we
may content "ourſelves with obſerving, that the ſame love of
order and uniformity, which arranges the books in a library,
and the chairs in a parlour, contribute to the formation of
ſociety, and to the well-being of mankind, by modifying the
neral rule concerning the ſtability of poſſeſſion. —
perty forms à relation betwixt a W and — tis
natural to found it on ſome preceding relation;
57 25 is nothing but a conſtant po ln, ſecur'd by the laws
vciety?”'rv natural 10 add it 10 che prefent n,
—— ddr that reſembles it. For this has its
- Influence, If it be natural to conjoin all ſorts of relations,
"tis more ſo, N eee and
an a related:
briefly
—
ITT 1 —
— —
r / Y IIS. - = hay
Bock III. Of Meral. By
briefly examine each of theſe, tegnning $507
with Occupation. III.
Tun poſſeſſion of all external goods is LV
changeable and uncertain; which is one of ras, 4
the moſt conſiderable impediments to the zrmine
eſtabliſhment of ſociety, and is the reaſon N
why, by univerſal agreement, expreſs or ta-
cite, men reſtrain themſelves by what we
now call the rules of juſtice and equity.
The miſery of the condition, which precedes
this reſtraint, is the cauſe why we ſubmit
to that remedy as quickly as poſſible; and
this affords ws an eaſy reaſon, why we an-
nex the idea of property to the firſt pofſeſ-
ſion, or to occupation. Men are unwilling
to leave property in ſuſpence, even for the
ſhorteſt time, or open the leaſt door to vio-
lence and diſorder. To which we may add,
that the firſt poſſeſſion always engages the
—_— moſt ; and did we neglect it, there
ou'd be no colour of reaſon for affigning
prope to any ſucceeding poſſeſſion b.
G 3 THERE
Þo_ ;
r
—
r rr
2
—
= =
— + 2...
» —
|
5
>a ce ths as *
by ſaying, this, ovary one has a geg th bene |
bour ; and when he joins that labour to any thing, it gives
him the property of the whole: But, 1. There are ſeveral
| of occupation, where we cannot be faid to join our
| labour to the object we acquire: As when we poſſeſs a mea-
dow by grazing our cattle upon it. 2. This accounts for
matter by means of acce/fon ; which is taking a needleſs:
euit, 2 We cannot be ſaid to join our labour to iy wn
86 A Treatiſe. of Human Mature.
Pa RT TERRE remains nothing, but to deter-
II. mine exactly, what is meant by poſſeſſion;
2 and this is not ſo eaſy as may at firſt ſight
4, be imagin d. We are ſaid to be in poſſeſſion
3 any thing, not only when we immediate-
ly touch it, but alſo when we are ſo fitua-
ted with reſpect to it, as to have it in our
power to uſe it; and may move, alter, or
deſtroy it, according to our preſent pleaſure
| or adyantage. This relation, then, is a ſpe-
| | cies of cauſe and effect; and as property is
1 nothing but a ſtable poſſeſſion, deriv'd from
the rules of juſtice, or the conventions of
men, tis to he conſider'd as the ſame ſpe-
4 | cies of relation. But here we may obſerve,
= that as the power of uſing any object be-
comes more or leſs certain, according as the
interruptions we may meet with are more or
leſs probable ; and as this probability may in-
creaſe by inſenſible degrees; tis in many
caſes impoſſible to determine when poſſeſſion
begins or ends; nor is there any certain
ſtandard, by which we can decide ſuch
controverſies. A wild boar, that falls into our
ils Þ s deem'd to be in our | Poſſeſſion, if
in a "IOW ease Properly ſpeaking, we only make
harp a gn on it by our labour. This forms a relation be-
twixt us and the object; and thence ariſes the Ty ac
8 to the preceding Fefe wal ;
* *
Nil Wit ©; 6 r it
Bock III. / Mirai.
it be impoſſible for him to eſcape. But 8 ECT.
what do we mean by impoſſible? How do III.
we ſeparate this impoſſibility from an impro- & 34
bability ? And how diſtinguiſh that exactly
ſtandard, by which we may decide all diſ-
putes that may ariſe, and, as we find by ex-
perience, frequently do ariſe upon this ſub-
ject © G 4 Bur
If we ſeck a ſolution of theſe difficulties in reaſon and
3 never ſhall find — Ag if we
r it in the imagination, tis evident, that the qualities,
which operate upon that fac
dually into each other, that ti) impoſſible to give them any
preciſe bounds or termination. The difficulties on this head
muſt encreaſe, when we conſider, that our judgment alters
very ſenſibly, according to the ſubjet, and that the ſame
power and proximity will be deem'd poſſeſſion in one caſe,
which is not eſteem'd ſuch in another. A perſon, who has
hunted a hare to the laſt degree of wearineſs, wou'd look
upon it as an injuſtice for another to ruſh in before him, and
ſeize his prey. But the ſame perſon, advancing to pluck an
apple, that hangs within his redeh, has no reaſon to com-
plain, if another, more alert, paſſes him, and takes poſſeſ-
fon. What is the reaſon of this difference, but that immo-
bility, not being natural to the hare, but the effect of in-
duſtry, forms in chat caſe a ſtrong relation with the hunter,
which is wanting in the other ?
Here then it appears, that a certain and infallible power of
enjoyment, without touch or ſome other ſenſible relation, of-
ten produces not pro : And I farther obſerve, that a
ſendble relation, N an r, is ſometimes
y preſent = e
ſufficient to give a title to any object. 'The fight of a thing
is ſeldom a conſiderable relation, and is only regarded as ſuch,
when the object is hidden, or very obſcure; in which caſe
we find, that the view alone conveys a property; according
to that maxim, that even a whole continent belongs to the na-
tion, which fin diſcover'd it. Tis however —
| which 8
from à probability? Mark the preciſe limits zer-
of the one and the other, and ſhew the 29:
„ run ſo inſenſibly and gra-
J
3
1
1
-
1
-
N 4
k 1
by ©
: =
4
1
i
i
=. *
i
1 :
» ot
.
; * 7
A
a.
4
MES rere BOS
+ vas, ASL AAS <>.
D akas V* _ A”: 8
.
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** „* —
**
r. **
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* — >. * fy & — 4
- EE . 8 —
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Ag
©, Pr 4
TY
A Treatiſe f Human Mature.
PART Bur ſuch diſputes may not only ariſe con-
II.
cerning the real exiſtence of property and
Of juſtice poſſeſſion, but alſo concerning their extent;
and in-
juſtice.
and theſe diſputes are often ſuſceptible of no
deciſion, or can be decided by no other fa-
culty than the imagination. A perſon, who
lands on the ſhore of a ſmall- iſland, that is
deſart and uncultivated, is deem'd its poſſeſ-
ſor from the very firſt moment, and acquires
PU the
that both in the caſe of diſcovery and that of poſſeſſion, the
firſt diſcoverer and poſſeſſor muſt join to the pelation an in-
tention of rendering himſelf proprietor, otherwiſe the rela-
tion will not have its effect; and that becauſe the connexion
in our fancy betwixt the property and the relation is not ſo
great, but that it requires to be help'd by ſuch an intention.
From all theſe circumſtances, tis eaſy to ſee how perplex'd
many queſtions may become concerning the . acquiſition of
property by occupation; and the leaſt effort of thought may
preſent us with inſtances, which are nat ſuſcepti pf 0a
are ,
reaſonable deciſion. If we prefer examples, whi
to ſuch as are feign'd, we may conſider the following one,
which is to be met with in almoſt every writer, that has trea-
ted of the laws of nature.} Two Grecian colonies, —_—
their native country, in ſearch of new; ſeats, were inform
that a city near them was deſerted. by its inhabitants. To
know the truth of this report, they! diſpatch'd .at once two
meſſengers, one from each colony; who finding on their ap-
proach, that their information was true, begun a race toge-
ther with an intention to take poſſeſſion of the city, each of
them for his countrymen. One of theſe rs, finding
that he was not an equal match for the other, launch'd his
ſpear at the gates of the city, and was ſo fortunate as to fix
it there before the arrival of his companion, This produc'd
a diſpute betwixt the two. colonies, which of them was the
Proprietor of the empty city; and this diſpute {till ſubſiſts
among philoſophers. For my part I find the diſpute impoſ
ſible to be ed, and that becauſe the whole queſtion hangs
upon the fancy, which in this caſe is not poſlefs'd of any
preciſe or determinate ſtandard, upon which it can give ſen-
Book III. Of Moral. 89
the property of the whole ; becanſe the ob- SR Or.
ject is there bounded and circumſcribd in III.
the fancy, and at the ſame time is propor- 571% *
tion d to the new poſſeſſor. The fame per- — FE
ſon. landing on a deſart iſland, as large as termine
Great Britain, extends his property no far- “ NY.
ther than his immediate poſſeſſion; tho a
numerous colony are eſteem'd the proprietors
of the whole from the inſtant of their de-
barkment.
Bur it often happens, that hs title of
firſt poſſeſſion becomes obſcure thro' time;
and that tis impoſſible to determine many
controverſies, which may ariſe concerning it.
In that caſe long poſſeſſion or preſcription na-
turally takes place, and gives a perſon a ſuf-
ficient property in any thing he n The
63 2 : No) 8422 2 —
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tence. ¶ To make this evident, let us conſider, chat if theſe
two perſons had been ſimply, members of the colonies, and
not —— or deputies, their actions wou'd not have been
of any conſequence ; ſince in that caſe their relation to the
colonies wou'd have been but feeble and imperfect. Add to
this, that nothing determin d them to run to the gates rather
than the walls, or any other part of the city, but that the
gates, being the moſt obvious and remarkable part, ſatisfy the
fancy beſt © king them for the whole ; as we find by the
poets, who gen draw their images and metaphors from
them. Beſides, we may conſider, that the touch or contact of
the one meſſenger is not pro perly poſſeſſion, no more than
the piercing the gates with a ſpear ; but only forms a rela-
tion ; and. there is a relation, in the other caſe, equally ob-
vious, tho not, perhaps, of equal force. Which of theſe
relations, then, conveys a right and property, or whether any
of them be ſufficient for that ee, I AAP
2 as are wiſer than myſelf. lh 0
by nature
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90
PART
II.
Of juſtice
and inju-
ice.
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
nature of human ſociety admits not of any
great accuracy; nor can we always remount
to the firſt origin of things, in order to de-
termine their preſent condition. Any con-
fiderable ſpace of time ſets objects at ſuch a
diſtance, that they ſeem, in a manner, to
loſe their reality, and have as little influence
on the mind, as if they never had been in
being. A man's title, that is clear and cer-
tain at preſent, will ſeem obſcure and doubt-
ful fifty years hence, even tho the facts, on
which it is founded, ſhou'd be prov'd with
the greateſt evidence and certainty. The
ſame facts have not the ſame influence after
ſo long an interval of time. And this may
be receiv'd as a convincing argument for our
preceding doctrine with regard to property
and juſtice, Poſſeſſion during a long tract
of time conveys a title to any object. But as
tis certain, that, however every thing be pro-
duc'd in time, there is nothing real, that is
produc'd by time; it follows, that property
being produc'd. by time, is not any thing real
in the objects, but is the offspring of the ſen-
timents, on which alone time is found to have
any influence. 5; e FG
4 Preſent poſſeſſion is plainly a relation betwixt a perſon and
an object; but is not ſufficient to counter-ballance the relation
of firſt poſſeſſion, unleſs the former be long and uninterrup
ted: In which caſe the relation is encreas'd on the fide =
51 —
5 ; F 4h 8 0 e T
, S a "I" o i #3 Id Sd » a -
Wx acquire the property of objects by ac- S ECD.
ceſſion, when they are connected in an inti- III.
mate manner with objects that are already of .
our property, and at the ſame time are infe- 14%
rior to them. Thus the fruits of our garden, termine
the offspring of our cattle, and the work of T
our ſlaves, are all of them eſteem'd our pro-
perty, eyen before poſſeſſion. Where ob-
jects are connected together in the imagina-
tion, they are apt to be put on the ſame
footing, and are commonly ſuppos d to be
endow'd with the ſame qualities. We readily
paſs from one to the other, and make no
difference in our judgments concerning them;
eſpecially if the latter be inferior to the for-
mer ©. 82
TRE
preſent poſſeſſion, by the extent of time, and diminiſh'd on
that of firſt poſſeſſion, by the diſtance. This change in the
relation produces a conſequent change in the property.
This ſource of property can never be explain'd but from
the imaginations ; and one may affirm, that the cauſes are
here unmix'd. We ſhall proceed to explain them more par-
ticularly, and illuſtrate them by examples from common life
and experience. | | |
It has been obſerv'd above, that the mind has a natural
ar qa x4 to join relations, eſpecially reſembling ones, and
a kind of fitneſs and uniformity in ſuch an union. From
this propenſity are deriv'd theſe laws of nature, that upon the
firfl formation of faciety, property always follows the preſent
fofſeſfron ; and afterwards, that it ariſes from firſt or from
long poſſeſſian. Naw we may eaſily obſerve, that relation is
not confin'd. merely to one degree; but that from an object,
that is related to us, we acquire a relation to every other ob-
2 which is related to it, and ſo on, till the thought loſes
e chain by too long a progreſs. However the relation may
1
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91
92
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
Parr Tux right of ſucceſſion is a very natural
H .
0
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Is
Of juſtice
and inju-
$M
one, from the preſum d conſent of the pa-
rent or near relation, and from the general
weaken by each remove, tis not immediately deſtroy d; but
frequently connects two objects by means of an intermediate
one, which is related to both. And this principle is of ſuch
force as to give riſe to the right of — and cauſes us
to acquire the rpg of ſuch objects as we are
immediately poſſels'd of, but allo of ſuch as are cloſely con-
need with them. * eee
Suppoſe a German, a Frenchman, and a Spaniard to com>
into a room, where there are plac'd upon the table three
bottles of wine, Rheniſh, Burgundy and Port; and ſuppoſe
they ſhou'd fall a quarrelling about the diviſion of them; a
on, who was choſen for umpire, wou'd naturally, to ſhew
is ĩmpartiality, give every one the product of his own coun-
try: And this from a principle, which, in ſome meaſure, is
the ſource of thoſe laws of nature, that aſcribe property to
occupation, preſcription and acceſſion part]
In all theſe caſes, and particularly that of acceſſion, there
is firſt a natural union betwixt the idea of the perſon and that
of the object, and afterwards a new and moral union produc'd
by that right or property, which we aſcribe to the perſon.
But here — occurs a difficulty, ron merits our N
and may afford us an opportunity of putting to t fin-
gular . — of aun. which has bin whe heb on the
preſent ſubject. I have already obſery'd, that the imagina-
tion paſſes with greater facility from little to great, than from
t to little, and that the tranfition of ideas is always ea-
er and ſmoother in the former caſe than in the latter. Now
as the right of acceſſion ariſes from the eaſy tranſition of ideas,
by which related objects are connected together, it ſhou'd na-
turally be imagin'd, that the right of acceſſion muſt encreaſe
in ſtrength, in proportion as the tranfition of ideas is per-
form'd with greater facility. It may, therefore, be thought,
that when we have acquir'd the property of any ſmall object,
we ſhall readily confider any great obje& related to it as an
acceſſion, and as belonging to the proprietor of the ſmall one;
fince the tranſition is in that caſe very eaſy from the ſmall ob-
je& to the great one, and ſhou'd connect them together in
the cloſeſt manner. But in fact the caſe: is always *
|
* — - ” Eq >
1 „ 4. vu » 0 Wa, *% Þ@ 7 e
ware ABEL <0 ra MINI \
| > _ 99
men's poſſeſſions ſhou d paſs to thoſe, who 8 Br.
are deareſt to them, in order to render them III.
more induſtrious and frugal. Perhaps theſe 8
cauſes are ſeconded by the influence of reia- rules, _
. © which de-
be otherwiſe. The empire of Great Britain ſeems to draw
with it the domimon of the Orineys, the Hebrides, the
iſle of Man, and the iſle of Fight ; but the authority over
thoſe leſſer iſlands does not naturally imply any title to Great
Britain. In ſhort, a ſmall object naturally follows a great
one-as its acceſſion ; a to be-
long to the proprietor of a ſmall one related to it, merely on
account of that property and relation. Vet in this latter caſe
the tranſition of ideas is ſmoother from the proprietor to the
ſmall object, which is his property, and from the ſmall ob-
ject to the great one, than in the former caſe from the pro-
E to the great object, and from the great one to the
all. It may therefore be thought, that theſe phænomena
are objections to the foregoing 2 that the aſcribing
of property to acceſſion is nothing an affet. of the relations
of ideas, and of the ſmooth tranſition of the imagination.
"Twill be eaſy to ſolve this objection, if we conſider
the agility and unſteadineſs of the imagination, with the dif-
ferent views, in, which it is. continually placing its objects.
When we attribute to a perſon a property in two objects, we
do not always paſs from the perſon to one object, and from
that to the other related to it. The objects being here to be
conſider d as the property of the perſon, we are apt to join
them together, and place them in the ſame light. Suppoſe,
therefore, a great and a ſmall object to be related together ;
if a perſon be ſtrongl related to the great object, he will
likewiſe be ſtrongly related to both the objects, conſiderd to-
woes becauſe he is related to the moſt - conſiderable part.
the contrary, if he be only related to the {mall object, he
will not be ſtrongly related to both, confider'd together,
fince his relation lies only with the moſt trivial part, which
is not apt to ſtrike us in any great degree, when we conſider
the whole. And this is the reaſon, why ſmall objects be-
come acceſſions to great ones, and not great to ſmall.
Tiis the general opinion of philoſophers and civilians, that
the ſea is incapable of becoming the property of any nation:
and that becauſe tis impoſſible to take poſſeſſion of it, or form
any ſuch. diſtin, relation with it, as may be the foundation of
n | property.
— nt in. 7 Oe oo
—— — — —
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94 MA Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART ion, or the aſſociation of ideas, by which we
II. are naturally directed to conſider the ſon af-
of te ter the parent's deceaſe, and' aſcribe to him a
= oo” title to his'father's poſſeſſions. Thoſe =o
v mu
property. Where this reaſon ceaſes, property immediately
The place. 'Thus the moſt ſtrenuous advocates for the liberty
of the ſeas univerſally allow, that friths and bays naturally
belong as an acceſſion to the proprietors of the ſurroundin
continent. Theſe have properly no more bond or union wi
the land, than the pacific ocean wou'd have; but having an
union in the fancy, and being at the ſame time inferior, they
are of courſe regarded as an acceſſioon. oe
The property of rivers, by the laws of moſt nations, and
by the natural turn of our thought, is attributed to the pro-
prietors of their banks, excepting ſuch + vaſt rivers as the
Rhine or the Danube, which ſeem too large to the imagina-
tion to follow as an acceflion the property of the neighbour-
ing fields. Yet even theſe rivers are conſider'd as the property
of that nation, thro' whoſe dominions they run; the idea of
a nation being of a ſuitable bulk to correſpond with them,
and bear them ſuch a relation in the fancy. c
The acceſſions, which are made to lands bordering upon
a Frans rivers, follow the land, ſay the civilians, ided it be made
— by what they call a/luvion, that is, inſenſibly and impercepti-
a bly ; which are circumſtances that mightily aſſiſt the imagina-
tion in the conjunction. Where there is any conſiderable
ion torn at once from one bank, and join'd to another, it
—— not his property, whoſe land it falls on, till it unite
with the land, and till the trees or plants have ſpread their
roots into both. Before that, the imagination does not ſuf-
ficiently join them. | Ste ;
There are other caſes, which ſomewhat reſemble this of
acceſſion, but which, at the bottom, are confiderably differ-
ent, and merit our attention. Of this kind is the conjunction
of the properties of different perſons, after ſuch a manner as
not to admit of ſeparation. The queſtion is, to whom the
united maſs muſt belong. 7 24U4 .
Where this conjunction is of ſuch a nature as to admit of
diviſion, but not of ſeparation, the deciſion is natural and
eaſy, The whole maſs muſt be ſuppos'd' to be common be-
twixt the proprietors of the ſeveral parts, and afterwards muſt
be divided according to the proportions of theſe parts. =
* ere
Book II. . Of Morals...
muſt become the property of ſome body : Szc T.
But of whom is the queſtion. Here tis evi- III.
dent the perſons Ha naturally preſent 57X.YY Of the
them- rules,
121
Hits e e ene notice of a remarkable ſubtil
of the Roman law, in diſtinguiſhing betwixt confuffon and — te
mixtion.” Confufion is an union of two bodies, ſuch as differ-
ent liquors, where the parts become entirely undiſtinguiſha-
ble. Commixtion is the blending of two bodies, ſuch as two
buſhels of corn, where the parts remain ſeparate in an obvious
and viſible manner. As in the latter caſe the imagination dif-
covers not ſo entire an union as in the former, but is able to
trace and preſerye a diſtinc̃t idea of the property of each ; this
is the reaſon, why the civil law, tho? it eſtabliſl'd an entire
community in the caſe of confuſion, and after that a -
tional diviſion, yet in the caſe of commrxtion, ſupple tack
of 2 rietors to: maintain — right; however ne-
at laſt force them to ſubmit to the ſame diviſion.
3 Titii frumento tuo miſtum fuerit : faui-
a ex of tw te veſtra, commune eft : quia fingula corpora, id
eft, fingula grana, que cujuſque propria fuerunt, ex conſenſu
veſtro communicata ſunt, Quo ſi caſu id miſtum fuerit, vel
Titius id miſcuerit fine tua voluntate, non videtur id commune
M; quia fingula corpora in ſua ſubſtantia durunt. Sed nec
magis iſtis caſibus — fit frumentum quam grex intelligi-
tur ofſe communis, ft pecora Titii tui, pecoribus miſſa fwerine.
Sed-fi ab alterutro veflrim totum id frumentum retineatur, in
rem quidem attio pro modo frumenti cujuſque competit. Arbi-
trio autem judicis, ut ipſe æſtimet quale cujuſque frumentum
fuerit. Inſt. Lib. II. Tit. 1. 6. 28.
Where the properties of two perſons are united aſter ſuch a
manner as neither to admit of diviſon nor Separation, 2s
when one builds a houſe on another's ground, in that caſe,
the whole muſt belong to one of the proprietors : : And here I
aſſert, that ĩt naturally is conceiv'd to belong to the proprietor
of the moſt conſiderable part. For however the compound
object may have a relation to two different perſons, and carry
. 2 of them, yet as _— conſider-
able OPM Ven our attention, the ſtrict
— — — it; for this — foe whole
— a — to _ ag. nk of that part, and is regarded
as his property. The only difficulty is, what we ſhall be
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A Treatiſe of Human dualer,
Pax themſelves to the mind; and being
E 4
„ nee to thoſe poſlſſions _ means "of
This quality depends on —— different KO" 20S
which have little connexion with each other. One
of a compound object may become more conſiderable
another, either becauſe it is more conſtant a hy en
becauſe it is of greater value; becauſe it is more. obyi-
ous and remarkable; — 2 or be-
will
| 8
the proprietor of the metal, betauſe it can be —
4
vally ballanc' d, that tis 3 ive any ſatiſ-
e ee Here then is the proper Es of muni-
cipal laws, to fix what the principles. ot, pros va
left undetermin'd,.
The ſuperſicies yields to the. ſoil, fays the civil uw: The
writing to the pa The canvas to the picture. Theſe de-
ciſions do not agree together, and are a proof of the con-
trariety of thoſe. principles, from which they are deriv d.
But of all —— of this kind the moſt cutiom bs
that, which for ſo many ages divided the diſciples of Proculus
and N Suppoſe a perſon ſhou'd make a _ from the
metal of another, or a ſhip from his wood, and ſuppoſe. the
proprietor. of the metal or wood: ſhon'd demand his goods,
the queſtion is. Whether he acquires a title to the cup or ſhip.
Sabinus. maintain'd the affirmative, and aſſerted that the ſub-
ſtance or matter is the foundation of all the qualities; that it
is incorruptible and immortal, and therefore ſuperior to the
form, which is caſual and dependent. On the other hand,
Proculus obſerv id, that the form is the moſt obvious and re-
markable part, and that from it bodies are denominated of
this or that particular ſpecies. To which he might have ad-
ded, that the matter or ſubſtance is in moſt bodies ſo fluctua-
ting and uncertain, that tis utterly impoſſible to trace it in all
its changes. For my part, I know not from chat. princi
ſuch a controverſy can be certainly determin'd. I ſhall there -
fore content my ſelf with obſerving, that the deciſion of Fre-
bonian ſeems to me pretty i that the cup belongs to
to its, firſt form: Bar thae the —
form for a contrary reaſon. But however ingenious this .
' On
be 2 -
Book III. 07 Morals. © 97
their deceas d parent, we are apt to connect 8 E cr.
them ſtill farther by the relation of property. III.
Of this there are many parallel inſtances .
> TAKE man wt rs — As PS 9 * 7
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Of the
rules
hich de-
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the — — 2 D , . a connexion e
relation betwixt a cup and the „ *
o where the a
ſubſtance is more _ and unalterable.
In examining the different titles to authority in govern-
ment, we - ſhall meet with many reaſons to convince us, that
be of ſucceſſion depends, in a great, meaſure on the
imagination. Lern contented with ob-
, which belongs to the preſent ſubject.
E a on die without children, and that a diſpute
ariſes * among his relations concerning his inheritance ; 3 *tis
evident, that if Ks riches be der partly from his fer
y from his mother, the moſt natural way of determi
uch a diſpute, is, to divide his poſſeſſions, and aſſign
part to the family, from whence it is deriv'd. NoT = the
perſon is ſuppos'd to have been once the full and entire pro-
prietor of thoſe goods; I aſk, what is it makes us find a
| certain equity and natural reaſon in this partition, except it
En His affection to theſe families does not
depend upon his poſſeſſions; for which reaſon his conſent can
1
1
T
*
never 3 245 preciſely for ſuch a partition. And as to
the public intereſt, it ſeems not to be in the leaſt concern'd on
the one fide or the other.
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gs Treatiſe 15 Human Nature.
SECT. W.
of the transference of property ”
conſent.
'Srcr. OWEVER uſeful, or eyen neceſſary,
IV. the ſtability of poſſeſſion may be to
—YY human fociety, tis attended with very con-
ſiderable inconveniences. The relation of
| fitneſs or ſuitableneſs ought never to enter
into conſideration, in diſtributing the pro-
perties of mankind ; but we muſt govern
ourſelves by rules, which are more general
in their application, and more. free from
doubt and uncertainty, Of this kind is
preſent poſſeſſion upon the firſt eſtabliſhment
of ſociety; and afterwards occupation, pre-
ſeription, acceſſion, and ſucceſſion. As theſe
depend very much on chance, they muſt
frequently prove contradictory both to men's
wants and deſires; and perſons and poſ-
ſeſſions muſt often be very ill adjuſted. This
is a grand inconvenience, which calls for a
remedy. To apply one directly, and allow
every man to ſeize by violence what he
Judges to be fit for him, wou'd deſtroy
ſociety 3 and therefore the rules of juſtice
ſeek
Book III. Of Morals. 99
ſeek ſome medium betwixt a rigid ſtability, S Er.
and this changeable and uncertain adjuſt- IV.
ment. But there is no medium better than 55 1h, ©
that obvious one, that poſſeſſion and pro- ” cas [Hl
perty ſhou'd always be ſtable, except when er
the proprietor, eenſents to beſtow them on M. eee
ſome other perſon. This rule can have no
ill conſequence, in occafioning wars and
diſſentions; ſince the proprietor's conſent,
who alone is concern'd, is taken along in
the alienation; And it may ſerve to many
good purpoſes in adjuſting property to per-
ſons. Different parts of the earth produce
different commodities ; and not only fo, but
different men both are by nature fitted for
different employments, and attain to greater
perfection in any one, when they confine
themſelves to it alone. All this requires a
mutual exchange and commerce ; for which
reaſon the tranſlation of property by conſent
is founded on a law of nature, as well as its
ſtability without ſuch a conſent.
So far is determin'd by a plain utility and
intereſt, But perhaps 'tis from more trivial
reaſons, that delivery, or a ſenſible tranſ-
ference of the object is commonly requir'd
by civil laws, and alſo by the laws of na-
ture, according to moſt authors, as a requi-
lite 6 in the tranſlation of pro-
4 perty.
: Sp ot taken for ſomething real, without any re-
ice.
10 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR r perty. The property of an object, when
Gale r ference to morality, or the ſentiments of the
and ij. mind, is a quality perfectly inſenſible, and
even inconceivable; nor can we form
diſtinct notion, either of its ſtability or
tranſlation. This imperfection of our ideas
is leſs ſenſibly felt with regard to its ſtability,
as it engages leſs our attention, and is eaſily
paſt over by the mind, without any ſcru-
pulous examination, But as the tranſlation
of property from one perſon to another is a
more remarkable event, the defect of our
ideas becomes more ſenſible on that occa-
ſion, and obliges us to turn ourſelves on
every fide in ſearch of ſome remedy. Now
as nothing more enlivens any idea than a
preſent impreſſion, and a relation betwixt
that impreſſion and the idea ; 'tis natural for
us to feek ſome falſe light from this quarter.
In order to aid the imagination in conceiving
the transference of property, we take the
ſenſible object, and actually transfer its poſ-
ſeſſion to the perſon, on whom we wou d
beſtow the property. The ſuppos d reſem-
blance of the actions, and the preſence of
this ſenſible delivery, deceive the mind, and
make it fancy, that it conceives the myſte-
rious tranſition of the property. And 1
Book III. Of Morals. ror
this explication of the matter is juſt, appears $ E .
l hence, that men have invented a hmbolicat IV
; delivery, to fatisfy the fancy, where the 55 3,”
: real one is impraktieable. Thus the giving arr
the keys of a granary is underſtood to be jerry
7 the delivery of the corn contain'd in it: .
1 The giving of ſtone and earth repreſents the
2 delivery of a mannor. This is a kind of
« ſuperſtitious practice in civil laws, and in the
J laws of nature, reſembling the Roman catho-
” lic ſaperſtitions in religion. As the Roman
10 catholics repreſent the inconceivable myſteries
M of the Chriſtian religion, and render them
15 more preſent to the mind, by a taper, or
* habit, or grimace, which is ſuppos d to re-
00s ſemble them; ſo lawyers and moralifts have
* run into like inventions for the ſame reaſon,
N and have endeavour d by thoſe means to
* ſatisfy themſelves concerning the transference
wn of property by conſent.
n
a # A i "Wl.
of-
u'd Of the obligation of promiſes.
m- \
of HAT the rule of morality, which
4 enjoins the performance of promiſes,
hs is not natural, will ſufficiently appear from
his H 3 *
102 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART theſe two propoſitions, which I proceed to
II. prove, viz. that a promiſe wwou'd not be in-
Haas, telligible, before human conventions bad eftab-
and inju- liſh d it; and that. even if it were intelli-
* gible, it uod not be attended with any
moral obligation.
I say, firſt, that a promiſe i is not t intell.
gible naturaliy, nor antecedent to human con-
ventions; and that a man, unacquainted
with ſociety, could never enter into any
engagements with another, even tho they
could perceive each other's thoughts by in-
tuition. If promiſes be natural and intelli-
gible, there muſt be ſome act of the mind
attending theſe words, I promiſe; and on
this act of the mind muſt the obligation de-
pend. Let us, therefore, run over all the
faculties of the ſoul, and ſee which of them
is exerted in our promiſes.
Tu act of the mind, expreſt by a pro-
miſe, is not a reſolution to perform any
thing: For that alone never impoſes any ob-
ligation. Nor is it a defire of ſuch a per-
formance: For we may bind ourſelves with-
out ſuch a deſire, or even with an averſion,
declar'd and avow'd. Neither is it the will-
ing of that action, which we promiſe. to
perform: For a promiſe always regards ſome
future time, and the will has an influence
I only
—
1
Book III. C/ Morals. * 103
) only on preſent actions. It follows, there- Sx c T.
. — that ſince the act of the mind, which V.
a enters into a promiſe, and produces its obli- 2
N gation, is neither the reſolving, deſiring, nor 4 — f
{ willing any particular performance, it muſt
neceſſarily be the willing of that obligation,
. which ariſes from the promiſe. Nor is this
only a concluſion of philoſophy ; but is en-
tirely conformable to our common ways of
thinking and of expreſſing ourſelves, when
we ſay that we are bound by our own con-
ſent, and that the obligation ariſes from our
mere will and pleaſure, The only queſtion,
then, is, whether there be not a manifeſt
abſurdity in ſuppoſing this act of the mind,
and ſuch an abſurdity as no man cou'd fall
into, whoſe ideas are not confounded, avith- , +
| prejudice and the fallacious uſe of language. :
AL - morality depends upon our ſenti-
ments; and when any action, or quality of
the mind, pleaſes us after a certain man-
ner, we ſay it is virtuous; and when the
neglect, or non- performance of it, diſpleaſes
us after a hke manner, we ſay that we lie
under an obligation to perform it. A change
of the obligation ſuppoſes a change of the
ſentiment ; and a creation of a new obliga-
tion ſuppoſes ſome new ſentiment to ariſe.
Bot tis certain we can naturally no more
| H 4 changs
104 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART change our own ſentiments, than the mo-
II. tions of the heavens; nor by a fingle act
Of juice of our will, that is, by a promiſe, render
2 e any action agreeable. or diſagreeable, moral
F or immoral ; which, without that act, wou'd
have produc'd contrary impreſſions, or have
been endow'd with different qualities. It
( wage be abſutd, therefore, to will any new
obligation, that is, any new ſentiment of
pain or pleaſure; nor is it poſſible, that
men cou'd naturally fall into fo groſs an ab-
ſurdity. A promiſe, therefore, is naturally
ſomething altogether unintelligible, nor is
thete any act of the mind belonging to it.
e | t Bu r
Were morality diſcoverable by reaſon, and not by ſenti-
ment, twou'd be ſtill more evident, that promiſes cou d
make no alteration upon it. Morality is ſappos'd to conſiſt
in relation. Every new impoſition of morality, therefore,
mult ariſe from ſome new relation of objects; and conſe-
quently the will cou'd not produce immediately any change in
morals, but cou'd have that effect only by producing a change
upon the objects. But as the moral obli Len ur froth e
is the pure effect of the will, without the leaſt change in any
part of the univerſe; it follows, that promiſes have no
natural obligation. |
Shou d it be faid, that this act of the will being in effect
8 a new object, produces new relations and new duties; I
f wou'd anſwer, that this is a pure ſophiſm, which may be
detected by a very moderate ſhare of accuracy and exactneſs.
To will a new obligation, is to will a new relation of objects;
and therefore, if this new relation of objects were form'd b
the volition itſelf, we ſhou'd in effeft will the volition; whic
is plainly abſurd and impoſſible. The will has here no object
to which it cou'd tend; but muſt return upon itſelf in in:
Fnitum. The new obligation depends ppon new 0 |
Book III. Of Moral 0g
Bur, ſecondly, if there was any act of SECT.
the mind belonging to it, it could not na- V.
turally produce any obligation. This ap- Nel
pears evidently from the foregoing reaſoning. ie of
A promiſe creates a new obligation. A new?
obligation ſuppoſes new ſentiments to ariſe.
The will never creates new ſentiments.
There could not naturally, therefore, ariſe
any obligation from a promiſe, even ſup-
poſing the mind could fall into the abſur-
dity of willing that obligation,
Tun fame truth may be prov'd ſtill more
evidently by that reaſoning, which prov'd
juſtice in general to be an artificial virtue.
No action can be requir'd of us as our duty,
unleſs there be implanted in human nature
ſome actuating paſſion or motive, capable of
producing the action. This motive cannot
be the ſenſe of duty. A ſenſe of duty ſup-
poſes an antecedent obligation : And where
an action is not requir'd by any natural
paſſion, it cannot be requir'd by any natural
obligation ; fince it may be omitted without
proving
The new relations n a new volition. The new
volition has for obje&t a new obligation, and —_—
new relations, and conſequently a new' volition z which voli-
tion again has in view a new obligation, relation and volition,
without any termination. *Tis impoſſible, therefore, we
cou'd ever will a new obligation ; and conſequently tis im-
poſſible the will cou'd ever accompany a promiſe, or produce -
$ new obligation of morality,
106 A Treatiſe of Hokies Wature/
PAR r proving any defect or imperfection in the
* mind and temper, and conſequently without
Y Of jaftice any vice. Now tis evident we have no
20795 inju- motive e us to the performance of
| a, promiſes, diſtinct from a ſenſe of duty. If
we thought, that promiſes had no moral
obligation, we never ſhou'd feel any incli-
nation to obſerve them. This is not the
| caſe: with the natural virtues. Tho' there
| was no obligation to relieve the miſera-
ble, our humanity wou'd lead us to it; and
when we omit that duty, the immorality
of the omiſſion ariſes from its being a. proof,
that we want the natural ſentiments of hu-
| manity. A father knows it to be his duty
3 to take care of his children: But he ...5
7 alſo a natural inclination to it. And if no
| human creature had that inclination, no one
cou'd lie under any ſuch obligation. But
| i as there is naturally no inclination to obſerve
Il | promiſes, diſtin& from a ſenſe of their ob-
if ligation ; it follows, that fidelity is no natu-
ral virtue, and that promiſes have no force,
antecedent to human conventions,
Ir any one diſſent from this, he muſt
give a regular proof of theſe two propo-
ſitions, viz. that there is a peculiar act of
the mind, annext to promiſes ; and that con-
ſequent to this act of the mind, there ariſes an
inclinatian
Book III. Of Moral. 107
inclination to perform, di tin ah a ſenſe Sec T.
of duty. I preſume, that it is impoſſible to V.
prove either of theſe two points; and there- 577% 3;
fore J venture to conclude, that promiſes are — of
human inventions, founded on the neceſſities *”
and intereſts of ſociety.
| In order to diſcover theſe 3 no
at, we muſt conſider the ſame quali-
ties of human nature, which we have al-
ready found to give riſe to the preceding laws
of ſociety. 1 Men being naturally ſelfiſh, or
endow'd only with a confin'd generoſity,
they are not eaſily induc d to perform any
action for the intereſt of ſtrangers, except
with a view. to ſome reciprocal advantage,
which they had no hope of obtaining but
by ſuch a performance. Now as: it fre-
quently happens, that theſe mutual per-
formances cannot be finiſh'd at the fame
inſtant, tis neceſſary, that one party be · con- 3
tented to remain in uncertainty, and depend
upon the gratitude of the other for a re-
turn of kindneſs. But ſo much corruption
is there among men, that, generally ſpeak-
ing, this becomes but a ſlender ſecurity; and
as the benefactor is here ſuppos d to beſtow
his favours with a view to ſelf. intereſt, this
both takes off from the obligation, and ſets
fn n of ehen, which is the true
mo ther
|
108 A Treati iſe of Human Wature.
PAR T mother of ingratitude, Were we, therefore,
3 4 II. to follow the natural coarſe of our paſſions
Of juſtice aud inclinations, we ſhon'd perform but
and inju- few actions for the advantage of others,
Fit. from. diſintereſted views ;. becauſe we are
| | naturally very limited in our kindneſs and
1 aaffection: And we ſhou'd perform as few of
| || that kind, out of a regard to intereſt ; be-
| cauſe we cannot depend upon their grati-
| tude. Here then is the mutual commerce of
good offices in a manner loſt among man-
kind, and every one reduc'd to his own
fkill and induſtry for his well-being and ſub-
fiſtence. , The invention of the law of na-
| ture, concerning the fability of poſſeſſion,
7 WM has already render d men tolerable to each
other; that of the transference of property
and poſſeſſion by conſent has begun to render
them mutually advantageous : But till theſe
laws -eb=natars, however ſtrictly obſerv'd,
are not ſufficient to render them ſo ſervice-
able to each other, as by nature they are
fitted to become. Tho poſſeſſion be fable,
men may often reap but ſmall advantage
from it, while they are poſſeſs d of a greater
quantity of any ſpecies of goods than they
have occaſion for, and at the ſame time
ſuffer by the want of others. The transfer-
ence of property, which is the proper *
2447000 r
— —
Book III. Of MorauU. 109
for this inconvenience, cannot remedy it en- 1
tirely; becauſe it can only take place with .
regard to ſuch objects as are preſent and in- Of the ob-
dividual, but not to fuch as are wade"
general, One cannot transfer the property
2 particular houſe, twenty leagues diſtant;
becauſe the conſent cannot be attended with
delivery, which is a requiſite circumſtance.
Neither can one transfer the property of ten
buſhels of corn, or five hogſheads of wine,
by the mere expreſſion and conſent ; be-
cauſe theſe are only general terms, and have
no direct relation to any particular heap of
corn, or barrels of wine. Beſides, the
commerce of mankind is not confin'd to the
| barter of commodities, but may extend to
ſervices and actions, which we may ex-
change to our mutual intereſt and advantage.
Your corn is ripe to-day ; mine will be fo
to-morrow. *Tis profitable for us both, that
I ſhou'd labour with you to-day, and that
you ſhou'd aid me to-morrow. I have no
kindneſs for you, and know you have as
little for me. I will not, therefore, take
any pains upon your account ; and fhould I
labour with you upon my own account, in
expectation of a return, I know I ſhou'd be
diſappointed, and that I ſhou'd in vain de-
pend upon your gratitude, Here then 1
| leave
110 Teatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR i leave you to labour alone: Vou treat me in
II. the ſame manner. The ſeaſons change;
Nee and both of us loſe our harveſts for want
«rd injs- of mutual confidence and "ſecurity. |
bes. ALL this is the effect of the natural and
inherent principles and paſſions of human
nature; and as theſe paſſions and principles
are inalterable, it may be thought, that our
conduct, which depends on them, muſt be
ſo too, and that twou'd be in vain, either
for moraliſts or politicians, to tamper with
us, or attempt to change the uſual courſe of
our actions, with a view to public intereſt.
I | And indeed, did the ſucceſs of their deſigns
| | = depend upon their ſucceſs in correcting the
1 ſelfiſhneſs and ingratitude of men, they
wou' d never make any progreſs, unleſs aided
by omnipotence, which is alone able to new-
mould the human mind, and change its
character in ſuch fundamental articles. All
they can pretend to, is, to give a new
direction to thoſe natural paſſions, and teach
us that we can better ſatisfy our appetites
in an oblique and artificial manner, than
by their headlong and impetuous motion.
Hence I learn to do a ſervice to another,
without bearing him any real kindneſs; be-
cauſe I forſee, that he will return my ſer-
vice, in expectation of another of the ſame
kind,
—e—ñ
. —
© — I — — —L˙iT Ir —-—-— —ůpůp rn ͤ ͤ— — —
.
— — — „ - _ — 2 _ *
2 * 1 = — — — w — —_ — —
pe — . 7 : 7 © — SPE A
Book III. Of Moral. 111
kind, and in v order to maintain the fame 88 T.
correſpondence. of good offices with me or _*-
with others. And accordingly, after I have Of the -
ſerv'd him, and he is in poſſeſſion of the 4 arnd
advantage ariſing from my action, he is in-
duc'd to perform his part, as foreſeeing the
conſequences of bis refuſal.
Bur tho this ſelf-intereſted commerce *
men begins to take place, and to predomi-
nate in ſociety, it does not entirely aboliſh
the more generous and noble intercourſe of
friendſhip and good offices. I may ſtill do
ſervices to ſuch perſons as I love, and am
more particularly acquainted with, without
any proſpect of advantage; and they may
make me a return in the ſame manner, with-
out any view but that of recompenſing my
paſt ſervices. In order, therefore, to diſtinguiſh
thoſe two different ſorts of commerce, the
intereſted and the diſintereſted, there is a cer-
tain form of words invented for the former,
by which we bind ourſelves. to the per-
formance of any action. This form of
words conſtitutes what we call- a promiſe;
which is the ſanction of the intereſted com-
merce of mankind. When a man. ſays he
promiſes any thing, he in effect expreſſes a
reſolution of performing it; and along with
that, * making uſe of this form of words,
ſubjects
112 AA Treatiſe of e ma
_ Pars 445580 himſelf to the ra wm $i”
os. ing truſted again in caſe of failure, A reſo-
& i lution is the natural act of the mind, which
Wh promiſes expreſs : But were there no more
fice than a reſolution in the caſe, promiſes wou'd
only declare our former motives, and wou'd
not create any new motive or obligation.
They are the conventions of men, which
create a new motive, when experience has
taught us, that human affairs wou'd be eon-
ducted much more for mutual advantage,
were there certain ſymbols or figns inſtituted, by
which we might give each other ſecurity of
our conduct in any particular incident. After
theſe ſigns are inſtituted, whoever uſes them
is immediately bound by his intereſt to exe-
cute his engagements, and muſt never ex-
pect to be truſted any more, if he refuſe to
perform what he promis'd.
Nox is that knowledge, which is requiſite
to make mankind ſenſible of this intereſt in
the inſtitution and obſervance of promiſes, to
be eſteem d ſuperior to the capacity of hu-
man nature, however ſavage and unculti-
vated, There needs but a very little practice
of the world, to make us perceive all theſe
conſequences and advantages. The ſhorteſt
experience of ſociety diſcovers them to every
mortal; * when each individual perceives
the
— —y— 9 * 8 _—
Bock II. Of Meral. 11g)
the ſame ſenſe of intereſt in all his fellows, 8 = 0 T.
he Ty performs his part of any
be dg in theirs. All of them, by con- #7 7
cert, enter into a ſcheme of actions, calcu-
lated for common benefit, and agree to be
true to their word; nor is there any thing
requiſite to form this concert or convention,
but that every one have a ſenſe of intereſt in
the faithful fulfilling of engagements, and
expreſs that ſenſe to other members of the
ſociety. This immediately cauſes that in-
2 to operate upon them; and intereſt is
the fir/t W to the performance af
promiſes.
AFTERWARDS a ſentiment Ty oh
concurs with intereſt, and becomes a new
obligation upon mankind. This ſentiment
of morality, in the performance of promiſes;
ariſes from the ſame principles as that in the
| abſtinence from the property of others.
Public intereſt, education, and the artifices
of politicians, have the ſame effect in both
caſes. The difficulties, that occur to us,
in ſuppoſing a moral obligation to attend
promiſes, we either ſurmount or elade. For
inſtance ; the expreſſion of a reſolution is
not commonly ſuppos d to be obligatory ;
bong we cannot readily conceive how the
114 A Treatiſe.of Human Mature.
PAR making uſe of a certain form of words
+ ſhou'd be able to cauſe any material differ-
5 ieee ce. Here, therefore, we feign a new act
a. of the mind, which we call the willing an
obligation; and on this we ſuppoſe the mo-
rality to depend. But we have prov'd: al-
ready, that there is no ſuch act of the mind,
and conſequently that promiſes impoſe no
natural obligation,
To confirm this, we may ſubjoin ſome
other reflections concerning that will, which
is ſuppos d to enter into a promiſe, and to
* its obligation. Tis evident, that the
will alone is never ſuppos d to cauſe the obli-
gation, but muſt be expreſs d by words or
ſigns, in order to. impoſe, a tye upon any
man. The expreſſion being once brought in
as ſubſervient to the will, ſoon becomes the
principal part of the promiſe; nor will a
man be leſs bound by his word, tho he
if a ſecretly give a different direction to his in-
| tention, and with-hold himſelf both from a
If reſolution, and from willing an obligation.
It But tho the expreſſion makes on moſt acca-
it ſions the whole of the promiſe, yet it does not
If always ſo; and one, who ſhou'd make uſe
It of any expreſſion, of which he knows not
| the meaning, and which be, uſes without
| | hes gy aa
[ certainly
„
Bock III.
Of Morals
ſelf, he wou d not lie under any obligation
of performance ; but tis neceſſary, that the
words be a perfect expreſſion of the will,
without any contrary figns. Nay, even this
we muſt not carry fo far as to imagine, that
one, whom, by our quickneſs of under-
ſtanding, we conjecture, from certain ſigns,
to have an intention of deceiving us, is not
bound by his expreſſion or verbal promiſe,
if we accept of it ; but muſt limit this conelu-
ſion to thoſe caſes, where the ſigns are of a
different kind from thoſe of deceit. All
theſe contradictions are eafily accounted for,
if the obligation of promiſes be merely a
human invention for the convenience of
ſociety ; but will never be explain'd, if it
be ſomething real and natural, ariſing from
any action of the mind or body.
ISEALI farther obſerve, that fince every
new promiſe impoſes a new obligation of
morality on the perſon who promiſes, and
fince this new obligation ariſes from his will ;
tis one of the moſt myſterious and incom-
prehenſible operations that can poſſibly be
imagin'd, and may even be compar'd to
I 2 - franſub-
certainty be bound by it. Nay, tho he 82 Cr.
knows its meaning, yet if he ufes it in jeſt V.
only, and with ſuch ſigns as ſhew evidently .
he has no ſerious intention of binding him- leo .
M
116
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pa RI franſubſtantiation, or holy orders, where a
II.
of 2 intention, changes entirely the nature of an
Fee: %. external object, and even of a human crea-
certain form of words, along with a certain
ture. But tho theſe myſteries be fo far
alike, tis very remarkable, that they differ
widely in other particulars, and that this
difference may be regarded as a ſtrong proof
of the difference of their origins. As the
obligation of promiſes is an invention for the
intereſt of ſociety, tis warp'd into as many
different forms as that intereſt requires, and
even runs into direct contradictions, rather
than loſe ſight of its object. But as thoſe
other monſtrous doctrines are mere prieftly
inventions, and have no public intereſt in
view, they are leſs diſturb'd in their progreſs
by new obſtacles; and it muſt be own'd,
that, after the firſt abſurdity, they follow
more directly the current of reaſon and good
ſenſe. Theologians clearly perceiv'd, that
the external form of words, being mere
found, require an intention to make them
have any efficacy; and that this intention
being once conſider' d as a requiſite circum-
ſtance, its abſence muſt equally prevent the
2a Mn een e tp +4808,
je pantry a bis nn
indelible cbaracler. In other reſpecls they are only a legal
qualification. | „
Book III. Of Moral. 117
effect, whether avow'd or conceal'd, whether 8 ECT.
ſincere or deceitful. Accordingly they have V.
commonly determin'd, that the intention of bor ip
the prieſt makes the facrament, and" that — of
when he ſecretly withdraws his intention, he
is highly criminal in himſelf; but till de-
ſtroys the- baptiſm, or communion, or holy
orders. The terrible conſequences of this
doctrine were not able to hinder its taking
place; as the inconvenience of a ſimilar
doctrine, with regard to promiſes, have pre-
vented that doctrine from eſtabliſhing itſelf.
Men are always more concern d about the
preſent life than the future; and are apt to
think the ſmalleſt evil, which regards the
former, more important than the *
which regards the latter.
W may draw the fame concluſion, con-
cerning the ofigin of promiſes, from the
force, which is ſuppos'd to invalidate all con-
tracts, and to free us from their obligation.
Such a principle is a proof, that promiſes
have no natural obligation, and are mere
artificial contrivances for the convenience
and advantage of ſociety, If we conſider
aright of the] matter, force is not eſſentially
different from any, other motive of hope or
fear, which may induce us to engage our
word. and lay ourſelves acer; any obliga-
| BD © tion,
118 JA Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR x tion. A man, dangeroufly wounded; wh
II. promiſes a competent ſum to a ſurgeon to
Ore cure him, wou'd certainly be bound to per-
and inju- formance; tho' the caſe be not ſo much dif-
fire ferent frorn that of one, who promiſes a ſum
to a robber, as to produce ſo great a differ-
ence in our ſentiments of morality, if theſe
ſentiments were not built aroma on Le
intereſt and convenience.
SECT YL
& ome further reflect ons concerning
juſtice and injuſtice.
Scr. E have now run over the three fun-
VI. damental laws of nature, that of
WV the fability of poſſeſſion, of its transference
by conſent, and of the performance of pro-
miſes, *Tis on the ſtrict obfervance of thoſe
three laws, that the peace and fecurity of
human ſociety entirely depend ; nor is there
any poſſibility of eſtabliſhing a good cor-
refpondence among men, where theſe are
neglected. Society is abſolutely neceſſary
for the well-being of men; and theſe are as
neceſſary to the ſupport of ſociety. What-
ever reſtraint they may impoſe on the ꝓaſ-
. e N the real offepring of
tat
Book III. Of Moral. 119
thoſe paſſions, and are only a mote artful S Er.
and more refin'd way of fatisfying them. VI.
Nothing is more vigilatit and inventive than N
our paſfions; and nothing is more obvious, ©.
than the convention for the obſervance of coucerning
theſe rules. Nature has, therefore, truſted Jt, _—
this affair entirely to the conduct of men, **
and has not plac'd in the mind any pecaliar
original principles, to determine us to a ſet
of actions, into which the other principles
of our frame and conſtitution were fufficient
to lead us. And to convince us the more
fully of this truth, we may here ſtop a mo-
ment, and from a review of the preceding
reaſonings may draw ſome new arguments,
to prove that thoſe laws, however neceſſary,
are entirely artificial, and of human inven-
tion; and conſequently that juſtice is an
artificial, and not a natural virtue.
I. The firſt argument I ſhall make uſe
of is deriv'd from the vulgar definition of
juſtice, Juſtice is commonly defin'd to be
a conſtant and perpetual will of giving every
one bis due. In this definition 'tis ſuppos d,
that there are ſuch things as right and pro-
perty, independent of juſtice, and antece-
dent tb it; and that they wou'd have fub-
fiſted; tho men had never dreatnt of prac.
7 7 tiſing
120
A Treatiſe of Human N, "ICY |
PART tifing ſuch a virtue. I have: already ob-
II.
ſerv'd, in a curſory manner, the fallacy of
2 Y juſtice this opinion, and ſhall here continue to open
and in-
ive.
up a little more diſtinctly my ſentiments on
that ſubject.
I $HALL begin with obſerving, that this
quality, which we call property, is like many
of the imaginary qualities of the peripatetic
philoſophy, and vaniſhes upon a more accu-
rate inſpection into the ſubject, when con-
ſider d a- part from our moral ſentiments.
Tis evident property does not conſiſt in any
of the ſenſible qualities of the object. For
theſe may continue invariably the ſame,
while the property changes. Property, there-
fore, muſt conſiſt in ſome relation of the
object. But 'tis not in its relation with re-
gard to other external and inanimate objects.
For theſe may alſo continue invariably the
ſame, while the property changes. This
quality, therefore, conſiſts in the relations of
objects to intelligent and rational beings,
But tis not the external and corporeal rela-
tion, which forms the eſſence of property.
For that relation may be the ſame betwixt
inanimate objects, or with regard to brute
creatures; tho in thoſe caſes it forms no pro-
perty. Tis, therefore, in ſome internal re-
Jation, that the Property conſiſts ; that is, |
bi
Bock UI. Of Morals... . 121
in ſome influence, which the external rela- SE CT.
tions of the object have on the mind and VI.
actions. Thus the external relation, which LO Pre
we call occupation or firſt. poſſeſſion, is not —_ 4 x
of itſelf imagin d to be the property of the 3
object, but only to cauſe its property. Now ige
tis evident, this external relation cauſes no-
thing in external objects, and has only an
influence on the mind, by giving us a ſenſe
of duty in abſtaining from that object, and
in reſtoring it to the firſt poſſeſſor. Theſe
actions are properly what we call juſtice;
and conſequently tis on that virtue that the
nature of property depends, and not the
virtue on the property. 5
Ir any one, therefore, wou'd aſſert, that
juſtice is a natural virtue, and injuſtice a
natural vice, he muſt aſſert, that abſtracting
from the notions of property, and right and
obligation, a certain conduct and train of
actions, in certain external relations of objects,
has naturally a moral beauty or deformity,
and cauſes an original pleaſure or uneaſineſs.
Thus the reſtoring a man's goods to him is
conſider'd as virtuous, not becauſe nature
has annex'd a certain ſentiment of plea-
ſure to ſuch a conduct, with regard to the
property of others, but becauſe ſhe has an-
nex d that . to ſuch a conduct, with
regard
122 A Treatiſe Hunam Nature.
PART regard to thoſe external objects, of which
II. others have had the firſt er long polleffion,
Of Nie or which have receiv'd by the conſent
ard iju- . Of thoſe, who have had firſt or long pol-
fie. ſeſſion. If nature has given us no ſuch ſen-
timent, there is not, naturally, nor antece-
dent to haman conventions, any ſuch thing
as property. Novy, tho it ſcems ſufficiently
evident, in this dry and accurate confider-
ation of the preſent ſubject, chat nature has
annex d no pleafure or ſentiment of appro-
bation to ſuch « conduct; yet that I may
leave as little room for doubt as poſſible, I
ſhall ſubjoin a few more arguments to con-
firm my opinion.
Firſt, If nature had given us a pleaſure of
this kind, it wou'd have been as evident and
diſcernible as vn every other occaſion ; nor
ſhou'd we have, found any difficulty to per-
ceive, that the conſideration of ſuch actions,
in ſuch a ſituation, gives a certain pleaſure
„ and,ſentiment of apptobation. We ſhou'd
not have been oblig d to have recourſe to
notions of property in the definition of ju-
ſtice, and at the ſame time make uſe of 'the
notions of juſtice in the definition 6f pro-
perty. This deceitful method of teaſoning
is a plain proof, that there are contain'd in
the 2 ſome obſcurities and difficulties,
2 | which
Book III. of Morals. 123
which we are not able .
which we defire to evade by this artifice, VI.
Secondly, . Thoſe rules, by which pro- — Prey
pertiety rights, and obligation are ney "=
min d, have in them no marks of a natural corcerning |
origin, but many of artifice and contrivance. —
They are too numerous to have proceeded
from nature : They are changeable by hu-
man laws: And have all of them a direct
and evident tendency to public good, and
' cumſtance is remarkable upon two-accounts.
Firſt, becauſe, tho the cauſe of the eſtab-
liſhment of theſe laws had been a regard for
the public good, as much as the public
good is their natural tendency, they word
ſtill have been artificial, as being purpoſely
contriv'd and directed to 2 certain end.
Secondly, becauſe, if men had been endow d
with ſuch a ſtrong regard for public good,
they wou d never have reſtram'd themſelves
by theſe rules; ſo that the laws of juſtice
ariſe from natural principles in a manner {till
more oblique and artificial. *Tis ſelf-love
which is their real origin; and as the felf-
love of one perſon is naturally contrary to
that of another, theſe ſeveral intereſted
paſſions are oblig d to adjuſt themſelves after
om” 4 manner a9 to concur in ſome ſy ſtem
| of
25 '2
* n
8 124
Pax of conduct and behaviour. This ſyſtem,
II. therefore, comprehending the intereſt of
Sax ach individual, is of courſe advantageous to
Ka. 2 the public; tho it be not intended ann
purpoſe 10 the inventors.
II. In the and * we may obſerve,
that all kinds of vice and virtue run inſenſi-
bly into each other, and may approach by
ſuch imperceptible degrees as will make it
very difficult, if not abſolutely impoſſible,
to determine when the one ends, and the
other begins; and from this qbſervation we
may derive a new argument for the fore-
going principle. For whatever may be the
caſe, with regard to all kinds of vice and
virtue, tis certain, that rights, and obliga-
tions, and property, admit of no ſuch inſen-
ſible gradation, but that a man either has a
full and perfect property, or none at all;
and is either entirely oblig'd to perfom any
action, or lies under no manner of obliga+
tion. However civil laws may talk of a
perfect daminion, and of an imperfect, tis
eaſy to obſerve, that this ariſes from a fiction,
which has no foundation in reaſon, and can
never enter into our notions of natural ju-
tho but for a day, has as full a right to
make
_ Book III. / Morals, © 125
make uſe of it for that time, as he mne
we call its proprietor has to make uſe of it VI.
any other day; and tis evident, that how- A Se
ever the uſe may be bounded in time or de- ther re
gree, the right itſelf is not ſuſceptible of any —
ſuch gradation, but is abſolute and entire, ſo e _
far as it extends. Accordingly we may ob-
ſerve, that this right both ariſes and periſhes
in an inſtant; and that a man entirely ac-
quires the property of any object by occu-
pation, or the conſent of the proprietor
and loſes it by his own conſent ; without
any of that inſenſible gradation, which is
remarkable in other qualities and relations.
Since, therefore, this is the caſe with regard
to property, and rights, and obligations, I aſk;
how it ſtands with regard to juſtice and
injuſtice? After whatever manner you an-
- {wer this queſtion, you run into inextricable
difficulties. If you reply, that juſtice and
injuſtice admit of degree, and run inſenſibly
into each other, you expreſſly contradict the
foregoing poſition, that obligation and pro-
perty are not ſuſceptible of ſuch a gradation.
Theſe depend entirely upon juſtice and in-
juſtice, and follow them in all their varia-
tions. Where the juſtice is entire, the pro-
perty is alſo entire: Where the juſtice is im-
| n .
a a Aland
*
126
A Treatife of Human Mature.
PART And vice verſa, if the property admit of no
WAY
Of e
ſack variations, they muſt alſo be ineom-
patible with juſtice, If you affent, there-
end inju- fore, to this laſt propoſition, and affert, that
K
-
| juſtice and injuftice are not ſuſceptible of de-
grees, you in effect aſſert, that they ate not
naturally either vicious or virtuoas; fince
vice and virtue, moral good and evil, and
indeed all natural qualities, run inſenfibly
into each other, and an, on ny" OCCa-
ſions, vndiſtinguihable.
Ans here it may be worth 4 0 ob-
ferve, that tho abftra&t reaſoning, and the
general maxims of philoſophy and law eſtab-
lite this poſition, bat property, and right, and
obkgation admit not of degrees, yet in out
common and negligent way of thinking, we
find great difficulty to entertam that opinion
5
and do even fecretly embrace the contrary
principle. An object muſt either be in the
poſſeſfiom of one perfor ov another, An ac-
tion muſt eicher be perform'd or not, The
neceſſity there of chooking one fide in
oftew is of finding any juſt medium, oblige
us, when we reflect on the matter, to ac-
knowledge, that all property and obligations
are entire. But on the : other” bhaud when
we eonſider the origin of property and ob-
1 ligation,
Bock III. of Morals. 227
ligation, and find that they depend; on pub- 820 r.
lie utility, and ſometimes on the propenliug-a/? * 45
of the imagination, which are ſeldom entire dy Ing
on any ſide; we are naturally inclin'd. ta. i e,
agine, that theſe. moral relations admit of an concerning
inſenſible gradation. Hence it. is, that in e.
references, where the conſent of the parties
leave the referees entire maſters of the ſub-
je, they commonly diſcoyer ſo much equity
and juſtice on both ſides, as induces tham
to ſtrike a medium, and divide the difference
betwixt the parties, Civil judges, who have
not this liberty, but are oblig d to give a
deciſiye ſentence. on ſome one ſide, are often
at a loſs. how to determine, and are neceſſi-
tated to proceed on the maſt frivolous rea
ſons in the world. Half rights and obliga-
tions, which ſeem ſo natural in common
life, are perfect ahſurdities in their tribunal;
for which reaſon they are often oblig d to
take half arguments for whole ones, in or-
der to terminate the affair one way or other,
III. Tan third argument of this kind 1
ſhall make uſe of may be explain'd thus.
If we conſider the ordinary caurſe of human
actions, we ſhall find, that the mind re-
ſtrains. nat itſelf by any general and univerſal
rules ; but acts. on. moſt occaſions as it is
determin d
128
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Part determin'd by its preſent motives and incli-
II. ation. As each action is a particular indi-
CW DT
Of juſtice
and inju-
Alice.
vidual event, it muſt proceed from parti-
cular principles, and from our immediate
ſituation within ourſelves, and with reſpect
to the reſt of the univerſe. If on ſome oc-
caſions we extend our motives beyond thoſe
very circumſtances, which gave riſe to them,
and form ſomething like general rules for
our conduct, tis eaſy to obſerve, that theſe
rules are not perfectly inflexible, but allow
of many exceptions. Since, therefore, this
is the ordinary courſe of human actions, we
may conclude, that the laws of juſtice, be-
ing univerſal and perfectly - inflexible, can
never be deriv'd from nature, nor be the
immediate offspring of any natural motive
or inclination. No action can be either
morally good or evil, unleſs there be ſome
natural paſſion or motive to impel us to it,
or deter us from it; and *tis evident, that
the morality muſt be ſuſceptible of all the
ſame variations, which are natural to the
paſſion. Here are two perſons, who diſ-
pute for an eſtate; of whom one is rich, a
fool, and a batchelor; the other poor, a
man of ſenſe, and has a numerous family:
The firſt is my enemy; the ſecond my
friend. Whether 1 be actuated in this affair |
Book m f Iran, 129
by a view to public or private. intereſt, by 8 E Cf.
friendſhip. or enmity, I muſt be induc'd to VL
do my utmoſt to procure the eſtate to the Come far-
latter. Nor wou'd any conſideration of the 2 fray
right and property of the perſons be able to concerning
reſtrain me, were I actuated only by natural e.
motives, without any combination or con-
vention with others. For as all property de-
pends on morality; and as all morality de-
pends on the ordinary courſe of our paſſions
and actions; and as theſe again are only
directed by particular motiyes; tis eyident,
ſuch a partial conduct muſt be ſuitable to
the ſtricteſt morality, and cou'd never be a
violation of property. Were men, there-
fore, to take the liberty of acting with re-
gard to the laws of ſociety, as they do in
every other affair, they wou'd conduct them-
ſelves, on moſt occaſions, by particular judg-
ments, and wo take inig conſideration
the characters and circumſtances of the per-
ſons, as well as the general nature of the
OW But *tis caſy to obſerye, that this
wou'd produce an infinite confufion in hu-
man ſociety, and that the avidity and par-
tiality of men wou'd quickly bring diſorder
into the world, if not reſtrain d by ſome
general and inflexible principles. Twas,
therefore, with a view to this inconyenience,
Vor. III. 7 that
. *
E
fiice,
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR I that men have eſtabliſh'd [thoſe principles,
and have agreed to reſtrain themſelves by
0 Fuftice general rules, which are unchangeable by
and inju- ſpite and favour, and by particular views of
private or public intereſt. Theſe rules, then,
are artificially invented for a certain purpoſe,
and are contrary to the common principles
of human nature, which accommodate them-
ſelves to circumſtances, and have no ſtated
invariable method of operation.
Nox do I perceive how I can eaſily be
| miſtaken in this matter. I ſee evidently, that
when any man impoſes .on himſelf general
inflexible” rules in his conduct with others,
he conſiders certain objects as their property,
which he ſuppoſes to be ſacred and inviolable.
But no propoſition can be more evident,
than that property is perfectly unintelligible
without firſt ſuppoſing juſtice and injuſtice ;
and that theſe, wiktues=and=rices: are as unin-
relligible, unleſs we have motives, inde-
pendent of the morality, to impel us to juſt
actions, and deter us from unjuſt ones. Let
thoſe motives, therefore, be what they will,
they muſt accommodate themſelves to cir-
cumſtances, and muſt admit of all the vari-
A ations, ich human affairs, in their in-
ceſſant revolutions, are ſuſceptible of. They
175 conſequently a my improper foundation
for
PP
Book III. C Moral.
for ſuch rigid inflexible rules as the laws of S rr.
nature; and 'tis evident theſe laws can only
be deriv'd from human conventions, when 9% A ral
men have perceiv'd the diſorders that reſult ,.
from following their natural and variable ks
Juftice and
principles. | injuſtice
Upon the whole, then, we are to con-
ſider this diſtinction betwixt juſtice and in-
juſtice, as having two different foundations,
_ viz. that of, intereſt, when men obſerve,
that *tis impoſlible to live in ſociety without
reſtraining themſelves by certain rules; and
that of morality, when this intereſt is once
obſerv'd;, and men receive a pleaſure from
the view of ſuch actions as tend to the peace
of ſociety, and an uneaſineſs from ſuch as
are contrary to it. Tis the voluntary con-
vention and artifice of men, which makes
the firſt intereſt take place; and therefore
thoſe laws of juſtice are ſo far to be con-
fider'd as artificial. After that intereſt is
once eftabliſh'd and acknowledg'd, the ſenſe
of morality in the obſervance'of theſe rules
follows naturally, and of itſelf; tho tis cer-
tain, that it is alſo. augmented by a new
artifice, and that the public inſtructions of
politicians, and the private education of pa-
— 3 contribute to the giving a ſenſe of
K 2 honour
131
VI.
S
_
; J
„ a4 le enen,
— a
a US
„ YL
*
132 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART honour and duty in the ſtrict : regulation of
92 our actions with regard to the properties of
; Gf juice others
—
fice.
8 k C T. VII.
Of the origin | of government.
_ In r. OTHING is more certain, than that
VII. men are, in a great ity Tore; govern'd
wo by intereſt, and that even when they extend
their concern beyond themſelves, tis not to
any great diſtance ; nor 1s it uſual for them,
an common life, to look farther than their
..:, Neareſt friends and acquaintance. Tis no
leſs certain, that tis impoſſible for men to
conſult their intereſt in ſo effectual a manner,
as by an univerſal and inflexible obſervance
of the rules of juſtice, by which alone they
can preſerve ſociety, and keep themſelves
from falling into that wretched and ſavage
condition, which is commonly repreſented
as the ate of nature. And as this intereſt,
which all men have in the upholding of
ſociety, and the obſervation of the rules of
juſtice, is great, ſo is it palpable and evident,
even to the moſt rude and uncultivated of
Human l and tis almoſt impoſſible for
Bock III. / Morals. © 133
any one, who has had experience of ociety, 8.8 'T-
to be miſtaken in this particular. Since, VII.
therefore, men are ſo ſincerely attach'd to
their intereſt, and their intereſt is ſo much _— *
concern d in the obſervance of juſtice, and v.
this intereſt is ſo certain and avow'd; it
may be aſk'd, how any diſorder can ever
ariſe in ſociety, and what principle there is
in human nature fo powerful as to overcome
ſo ſtrong a paſlion, . een e Ob
| angry dre r e
Ir has been vblery4, in treating of the
paſſions, that men are mightily govern'd by
the imagination, and proportion their affec-
tions more to the light, under which any
object appears to them, than to its real and
intrinſic * What ſtrikes upon them
with a ſtrong and lively idea commonly pre-
vails above what lies in a more obſcure light;
and it muſt be a great ſuperiority of value,
that is able to compenſate this advantage.
Now as every thing, that is contiguous to
us, either in ſpace or time, . ſtrikes upon us
with ſuch an idea, it has a proportional effect
on the will and paſſions, and commonly
operates with more force than any object,
that lies in a more diſtant and obſcure light.
Tho we may be fully convinc'd, that the
1 excels the former, we are not
K 3 able
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234
PART able to regulate our actions by this judg-
II.
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.”
ment; but yield to the ſollicitations of our
of Joe paſſions, which always plead i in ene "
and i inju-
fice,
whatever is near and contiguous, -
'Tr1s is the reaſon why men ſo often at
in contradiction to their known intereſt ; and
in particular why they prefer any trivial ad-
vantage, that is preſent, to the maintenance
of order in ſociety, which ſo much depends
on the obſervance of juſtice. The con-
ſequences of evety breach of equity ſeem to
lie very remote, and are not able to counter-
ballance any immediate advantage, that may
be reap'd from it. They are, however, never
the leſs real for being remote; and as all
men are, in ſome degree, ſubject to the ſame
weakneſs, it neceſſarily happens, that the
violations of equity muſt become very fre-
quent in ſociety, and: the commerce of men,
by that means, be render'd very dangerous
and uncertain. - You have the fame |
penſion, that I have, in favour of what is
contiguous above what is remote. You are,
therefore, naturally carried to commit acts
of injuſtice as well as me. Your example
both puſhes me forward in this way by imi-
tation, and alſo affords me a new reaſon for
any breach of equity, by ſhewing me, that
I ſhould be nnn
dn | alone
*
Bock Il. Of Mera.
alone ſhou'd. Wok on myſelf a ſevere re- SEC r.
ſtraint amidſt the licentiouſneſs of others.
Tris quality, therefore, of human. na- of he”
ture, not only is very dangerous to ſociety, E. of
but alſo ſeems; on a curſory. view, to be in- men,
capable of any remedy. The remedy can
only come from the conſent of men; and
if men be incapable of themſelves to prefer
remote to contiguous, they will never con-
ſent to any thing, which wou'd oblige them
to ſuch a choice, and contradict, in ſo ſen-
ſible a manner, their natural principles and
propenſities. Whoever chuſes the means,
chuſes alſo the end; and if it be impoſſible
for us to prefer what is remote, tis equally
impoſſible for us to ſubmit to any neceſſity,
which wou'd ae us to ſuch a method
of acting.
Bur "watts tis obſervable, that this infir-
mity of human nature becomes a remedy to
itſelf, and that we previde againſt our neg-
ligence about remote objects, merely be-
to that nelle
gence. When we conſider any objects at a
diſtance, all their minute diſtinctions vaniſh,
and we always give the preference to what-
ever is in itſelf preferable, without conſider-
ing its ſituation and circumſtances. This
gives riſe to what in an improper ſenſe we
K 4 | call
135
VII.
lac met, ;
ale |
H dec
amnened, rome
on Natur oC
6 BY - = att ary |
136 A Treatiſe of Huhan Mature.
PAR call ron, which is a principle, that is of-
22 ten contradictory to thoſe propenfitics that
&5 fe S775; diſplay themſelves upon the approach of the
and inju- object. In reflecting on any action, which I
lun. zn to perform a twelve- month hence, I al-
ways reſolve to prefer the greater good,
Whether at that time it will be mote conti-
guous or remote; nor does any difference
in that particular make a difference in my
prefent intentions and reſolutions. My di-
ſtance from the final determination makes all
' thoſe minute differences vaniſh, nor am 1
affected by any thing, but the general and
more difcernable qualities of good and evil.
But en my nearer approach, thoſe cireum-
ſtances, which I at firſt ober- look d, begin
to appear, and have an influence on my
conduct and affections- A new inclination
to the preſent good ſprings op, and makes it
difficult for me to adhere inffexibly to my
flirſt purpoſe and reſolution. This natural
+.» Hifirrnity T may very much regtet, and I maß
., Endeavour, by all poſſible means, to free ry
E om it. I may have tecourſe to ſtudy
and reflection within myſelf; to the advice
„ ., "of friends; to frequent meditation, and re-
peared reſolution: And having experienc d
how ineffectual all theſe are, I may embrace
e any other expediens n.
F may impoſe a reſtramt upon myſelf, and 8 E r.
guard againſt this weakneſs. W ...\\
Tax only difficulty, thirefors; is to find SY W
out this expedient, by which men cure their origin of |
natural weakneſs, and lay thernſelves under .
the neceflity of obſerving the laws of juſtice
and equity, notwithſtanding their violent
ptopenſion to prefer contiguous to remote.
"Tis evident ſuch a remedy can never be ef-
fectual without correcting this propenſity;
and as 'tis impoſſible to change of correct
any thing material in our nature, the wtmoſt
we can do is to change our circumſtances
and tuation, and render the obſervance of
the laws of juſtice our neareft intereſt, and
their vielation our moſt remote. But this
being impracticable with reſpect to all man-
kind, it can only take place with reſpect to
a few, whom we thus immediately intereſt
in the execution of juſtice. Theſe are the
perſons, whom we call civil magiſtrates, kings
Sand th miniſters, our Wvernors and rulers,
who being indifferent perſons to the greateſt
part of the ſtate, have no intereſt, or but u
remote one, in any act of injuſtice ; and be-
ing ſatisfied with their preſent condition,
and with their part in ſoeiety, have an im-
meldiate intereſt in every execution of juſtice,
Which' is 10 neceffary -to the upholding ef
ſociety.
*{
N
138
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR r ſociety. Here then is the origin of civil go-
II.
Of juftice
3 Fes
vernment and, See Men are not able
radically to cure, either in- themſelves or o-
thers, that narrowneſs of ſoul, which makes
them prefer the preſent to the remote. They
cannot change their natures. All they can
do is to change their ſituation, and render
the obſervance of juſtice. the immediate in-
tereſt of ſome particular perſons, and its vio-
lation their more remote. 'Theſe. perſons,
then, are not only induc'd to obſerve thoſe
rules in their own conduct, but alſo. to con-
ſtrain others to a like regularity, and inforce
the dictates of equity thro' the whole ſociety,
And if it be-neceflary, they may alſo. inte-
reſt others more immediately. in the execu-
tion of juſtice, and create a number of offi-
cers, civil and - military, to afſiſt them in
their government. „ cht
Bor this execution of juſtice, tho the
pelicipal, is not the only advantage of go-
vernment. As M violent paſſion hinder
men from ſeeing. diſtinctly the intereſt they
have in an equitable behaviour towards
others; ſo it hinders them from ſeeing that
equity itſelf, and gives them a remarkable
partiality in their own favours. This incon-
venience is corrected in the ſame manner as
** eee d. The fame; perſons,
ni? who
Book III. Of Moral. 139
who execute the laws of juſtice, will alſo Sz C r.
decide all controverſies concerning them; VII.
and being indifferent to the greateſt part of 5.5,” Of the
the ſociety, will decide them more — origin in of
than every one wou'd in his own caſe. .
By means of theſe two advantages, in the
execution and decifion of juſtice, men acquire
a ſecurity againſt each others weakneſs and
paſſion, as well as againſt their own, and
under the ſhelter of their governors, begin
to taſte at eaſe the ſweets of ſociety and mu-
tual aſſiſtance. But government extends
farther its beneficial influence; and not con-
tented to protect men in thoſe conventions
they make for their mutual intereſt, it often
obliges them to make ſuch conventions, and
forces them to ſeek their own advantage, by
a concurrence in ſome common end or purpoſe.
There is no quality in human nature, which
cauſes more fatal errors in our conduct, than
that which leads us to prefer whatever is pre-
. ſent to the diſtant and remote, and makes us
deſire objects more according to their ſituation
than their intrinſic value. Two neighbours
may agree to drain a meadow, which they
poſſeſs in common; becauſe tis ecaſy ſor .,'\
them to know each others mind; and each
muſt perceive, that the immediate conſe-
dene of his failing in his part, is, the
ö Ie ; abandoning
mas,
140
Pax r abandoning the whole project. But tis very
II. difficult, and indeed impoſſible, that a thou-
On
Of juſtice
þ od it being difficult for them to concert ſo com-
A Treatife of Hann Waun
fand perſons ſhou'd agtee in any ſuch action;
plicated a deſign, and {till more difficult for
them to execute it; while each ſeeks a pre-
text to free himfelf of the trouble and ex-
pence, and won'd lay the whole burden on
others. Political ſociety eaſily remedies both
theſe inconveniences. Magiſtrates find an
itimediate intereſt in the intereſt of any oon-
fiderable part of their ſubjects. They need
conſult no body but chemſelves to form any
ſcheme” for the promoting of that intereſt.
And as the failure of any one piece in the
execution is connected, tho not immediately,
with the failure of the whele, they prevent
that failure, becauſe they find no intereſt in
it, either immediate or remote. Thus bridges
are built; harbours open'd ; ramparts tais d;
canals form'd; fleets equip d; and armies
diſciplin d; every where, by the care of
governtnent, which, cho compos d of men
ſubject to all human irfirmities, becomes,
dy one of the fineſt and moſt ſabtle inven-
tions imaginable, a compoſition, kiek is,
in ſome meaſure; VN from N Unto
infiitie | - "es
—_—
5 Book ll. of Mere A
SE c 1. VI
0 the ſource of allegianch
HOUGH government be an inyen-SE CT.
tion very advantageous, and even in VIII.
ſome circumſtances abſolutely neceſſary- to ©
mankind ; it is not. neceſſary in all cireum-
ſtances, nor is it impoſſible for men to pre-
ſerve ſociety for ſome time, without having
recourſe to ſuch an invention. Men, tis
true, are always much inclin'd to prefer pre-
ſent intereſt to diſtant and remote ; nor is it
eaſy for them to reſiſt the temptation of any
adyantage, that they may immediately enjoy,
in apprehenſion of an evil, that lies at a
diſtance from them: But ſtill this weakneſs
is leſs conſpicuous, where the poſſeſſions,
and the pleaſures of life are few, and of little
value, as they always are in the infancy of
| ſociety. An Indian is but little tempted to
| diſpoſſeſs another of his hut, or to ſteal his
bow, as being already provided of the fame
| advantages; and as to any ſuperior fortune, X
which may attend one above another in
hunting and fiſhing, tis only caſual and
temporary, and will have but ſmall tendency © _.
| | —
142
II.
Of Juſtice
and 1 war
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A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR r to diſturb ſociety. And ſo far am I from
thinking with ſome philoſophers, that men
are utterly incapable of ſociety without
government, that I aſſert the firſt rudiments
of government to ariſe from quarrels, not
among men of the ſame ſociety, but among
thoſe of different ſocieties. A leſs degree of
riches will ſuffice to this latter effect, than
is requiſite for the former. Men fear nothing
from public war and violence but the reſiſt-
ance they meet with, which, becauſe they
ſhare it in common, ſeems leſs terrible; and
becauſe it comes from ſtrangers, ſeems leſs
pernicious in its conſequences, than when
they are Expos 'd fingly againſt one whoſe
commerce is advantageous to them, and
without whoſe ſociety tis impoſſible they
can ſubſiſt. Now foreign war to a ſociety
without government neceſſarily produces civil
war, Throw any conſiderable goods among
men, they inſtantly fall a quarrellivg, while
each ſtrives to get poſſeſſion of what pleaſes
him, without regard to the conſequences.
In a foreign war the moſt conſiderable of all
goods, life and limbs, are at ſtake; and as
every one ſhuns dangerous pofts, ſeizes the
beft arms, ſeeks excuſe for the ſlighteſt
wounds, che-laus, which may be well
enough obſerv d, while men were calm, can
4 now
Book III. Of Meral. * 143
now no longer take place, when they are in Sec.
ſuch commotion. | n
Tris we find verified i in the dari”
tribes, - where men live in concord and /erce of |
amity among themſelves without any eſtab- * ©
liſh'd government; and never pay ſubmiſſion
to any of their fellows, except in time of
war, when their captain enjoys a ſhadow of
authority, which he loſes after their. return
from the field, and the eſtabliſhment of
peace- with the neigbouring tribes. This
authority, however, inſtructs them in the
advantages of government, and teaches them
to have recourſe to it, when either by the
pillage of war, by commerce, or by any
fortuitous inventions, their riches and poſ-
ſeſſions have become ſo conſiderable, as to
make them forget, on every emergence, the
intereſt they have in the preſervation. of
peace and juſtice. Hence we may give a
plauſible . reaſon, among others, why all
governments are at firſt monarchical, without
any mixture and variety; and why republics
ariſe only from the abuſes of monarchy and
deſpotic power. Camps are the true mothers
of cities; and as war cannot be adminiſtred,
by reaſon of the ſuddenneſs of every exi-
gency, without ſome authority in a ſingle
prong the lame kind of authority naturally
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144 Tea of Human Mature.
it Pan v takes place in that civil government, which
2 take to be more natural, than the common
and fin- one deriv'd from patriarchal government, or
ſucceeds the military. And this veaſon I
the authority of a father, which is ſaid firſt
to take place in one family, and to accuſtom
the members of it to the government of' a
ſingle perſon. The Rate of ſociety without
government is one of the moſt natural ſtates
of men, and, matt ſubſiſt with the con-
junction of many families, and long after
the firſt generation. Nothing but an en-
creaſe of riches and _ofleſions cou'd oblige
men to quit it; and fo barbarous and unin-
ſttucted are all ſocieties on their firſt forma-
tion, that many years muſt elapſe before
theſe..can- encreaſe to ſuch a degree, as to
diſturb men in . enjoyment be 4 and
concord. *
Bur tho' it be poflble for men to main- 85
tain a ſmall uncultivated ſociety without
government, tis impottible they ſhou'd main-
tain a ſociety of any kind without juſtice,
and the obfervance of thoſe three funda-
mental laws concerning the ſtability of poſ-
ſeſſion, its tranflation by conſent, and the
performance of promiſes. Theſe are, there-
fore, antecedent to government, and are
20 d to impoſe an obligation before the
1
Book III. / Morals.
duty of allegiance to civil magiſtrates hag 8 ECT.
once been thought of. Nay, I ſhall go far- VIII.
ther, and aſſert, that government, upon its Of the +
firft eftabliſhment, wou d naturally be ſup- ee,
pos'd to derive its obligation from thoſe laws.
of nature, and, in particular, from that con-
cerning the performance of promiſes, * When
men have once perceiv'd the neceſſity of
government to maintain peace, and execute
juſtice, they wou'd naturally aſſemble to-
gether, won d chuſe magiſtrates, determine
their power, and promiſe them obedience.
As a promiſe is ſuppos d to be a bond or
ſecurity already in uſe, and attended with a i
moral obligation, tis to be confider'd as the
original ſanction of government, and as the
ſource of the firſt obligation 'to obedience.
This reaſoning appears ſo natural, that it has
become the foundation of our faſhionable
ſyſtem of politics, and is in a manner the
creed of a party amongſt us, who, prides ,
themſelves, with reaſon, on the ſoundneſs of
their philoſophy, and their liberty of thought.
All nen, ſay they, are born free and equal:
Government and ſuperiority can only be eſtab-
liſh'd by conſent : The conſent of men, in
eftabliſhing government, impoſes on them a
new obligation, unknown to the laws of na-
ture. Men, therefore, are bound to obey their
Vo, III. L magiſtrates.
145
167 [he . e
bp . — mm ””—
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146 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
P - ' T magiſtrates, only becauſe they promiſe it; and
I. / they bad not given their word, either ex-
Of PAs preſsly or tacitly, to preſerve allegiance, it
— inju- would never have become a part of their
moral duty. This concluſion, however,
when carried ſo far as to comprehend govern-
ment in all its ages and ſituations, is entirely
erroneous; and I maintain, that tho' the
duty of allegiance be at firſt grafted on the
obligation of promiſes, and be for ſome time
ſupported by that obligation, yet it nie
A , een takes root of itſelf, and has an original obli-
gation and au chority, independent of all
contracts. This is a principle of moment,
ans ac 2 tention, before we proceed any fartber.
„„ 4 - *T1s reaſonable for thoſe philoſophers,
8 who aſſert juſtice to be a natural virtue,
and antecedent to human conventions, to
reſolve all eivil allegiance into the obligation
of a promiſe, and aſſert that tis our own
conſent alone, which binds us to any ſub-
miſſion to magiſtracy. For as all govern-
ment is plainly an invention of men, and
the origin of moſt governments is known in
hiſtory, tis neceſſary to mount higher, in
order to find the ſource of our political du-
ties, if we wou'd aſſert them to have any
natural obligation of morality. Theſe phi-
e loſophers,
Book III. Of Moral.
loſophers, therefore, quickly obſerve, that 8 E C r.
ſociety is as antient as the human ſpecies, VIII.
and thoſe three fundamental laws of nature & the
as antient as ſociety : So that taking advan- .
tage of the antiquity, and obſcure origin of
theſe laws, they firſt deny them to be arti-
ficial and vohintary inventions of men, and
then ſeek to ingraft on them thoſe other
duties, which are more plainly artificial.
But being once undeceiv'd in this particular,
and having found that natural, as well as
civil jaſtice, derives its origin from human
conventions, we ſhall quickly perceive, how
fruitleſs it is to reſolve the one into the other,
and ſeek, in the laws of nature, a ſtronger
foundation' for our political duties than' in-
tereſt, and human conventions ; while theſe
laws themſelves are built on the very ſame
foundation. On which ever fide we turn
this ſubject, we ſhall find, that theſe two
kinds of duty are exactly on the fame foot-
ing, and hive the ſame ſource both of their
firſt invention and moral obligation, They
are contriv'd to remedy like inconveniences,
and acquire their moral ſanction in the fame
manner, from their remedying thoſe incon-
veniences. Theſe are two points, which we-
we ſhall endeavour to prove as 1 as
poſſible. |
L 2
We
148
A Treatiſe of Human ature...
PART W have already ſhewu, that men in-
2
Of jaftice n When they. obſerv d the neceſſity of ſociety
and i inju-
ſtice.
vented the three fundamental laws of nature,
to their mutual ſubſiſtance, and found, that
etwas impoſſible to maintain any correſpon-
dence together, without ſome reſtraint on
their natural appetites, The fame ſelf- love,
therefore, which renders men ſo incommo-
dious to each other, taking a new and more
convenient direction, produces the rules of
juſtice, and is the irt motive of their ob-
ſervance. But when men have obſerv'd,
that tho? the rules of juſtice be ſufficient to
maintain. any ſociety, yet tis impoſſible for
them, of themſelves, to obſerve thoſe rules,
in large and poliſh d ſocieties; they eſtabliſh
government, as a new invention to attain
their ends, and preſerve the old, or procure
new advantages, by a more ſtrict execution of
juſtice, So far, therefore, our civil duties
are connected with our natural, that the
former are invented chiefly for the ſake of
the latter; and that the principal object of
government is to conſtrain men to obſerve
the laws of nature. In this reſpect, however,
that law of nature, concerning the per-
. formance of promiſes, is only compria d
along with the reſt; and its exact obſervance
is to be conſider'd as an effect of the inſti-
6. —
Book III. ach Morals... „ -
tution of . and not kh obellienee JECT.
to government as an effect of the eta ., VIII.
of à promiſe, Tho the object of our civil 5; 370 Of the
duties: be the enforcing: of our natural, .
the · iy motive of the invention, as well
as performance of both; is nothing but ſelſ·
intereſt: And ſince there is a ſtparate in-
tereſt in the obedience to government, froin
that in the performance of promiſes, we
muſt alſo allow of a ſeparate obligation. To
obey the civil magiſtrate is requiſite to pte-
| ſerye order and concord in ſociety. To per-
ö form promiſes is requiſite to beget mutual
; truſt and confidence in the common offices
of lifes: The ends, as well as the means,
5 are perfectly — Weener the one m_
L dinate to the other. 91% 51 Se 1 |
5 To make this wesebendieg let us con-
f ſider, that men will often bind themſelves
9 by promiſes to the performance of what it
e wou d have been their intereſt to perform,
f independent of theſe promiſes; as when
f
'c
they would give others .a fuller ſecurity, by
ſaper-adding a new obligation of intereſt to
1 that wich they formerly lay under. The
[- intereſt if the performance of promiſes, be-
d ſides its moral obligation, is general, avow'd,
de and of . * Other
1 oni Trace % ere, r Intereſts
n ads
Tags Apes
—
150
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART intereſts may be more particular and doubt-
II. ful; and we are apt to entertain a greater
Of pe ſuſpicion, that men may indulge their hu-
ice.
and inju- mour, or paſſion, in acting contrary to them.
Here, therefore, promiſes come naturally in
play, and are often requir'd for fuller ſatiſ-
faction and ſecurity. But ſuppoſing thoſe
other intereſts to be as general and avow'd
as the intereſt in the performance of a pro-
miſe, they will be regarded as on the ſame
footing, and men will begin to repoſe the
ſame confidence in them. Now this is ex-
actly the caſe with regard to our civil duties,
or obedience to the magiſtrate; without
which no government cou d ſubſiſt, nor any
peace or order be maintain'd in large ſo-
cieties, where there are ſo many poſſeſſions
on the one hand, and ſo many wants, real or
imaginary, on the other. Our civil duties,
therefore, muſt ſoon detach themſelves from
our promiſes, and acquire à ſeparate force
and influence. The intereſt in both is of
the very ſame kind: Tis general, avow'd;
and prevails in all times and places. There
is, then, no pretext of reaſon for founding
the one upon the other; while each of them
has a foundation peculiar to itſelf. We
might as well reiolve the obligation to ab-
- * n ”
ſtain from t of others. into
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Book III. Of Moral. T3 W
the obligation of a promiſe, as that of alle-S ECHT.
glance. The intereſts are not more diſtin VIII.
in the one caſe than the other. A regard to GY
property is not more neceſſary to natural of
ſociety, than obedience is to civil ſociety or © ”
government; nor is the former ſociety more
neceſſary to the being of mankind, than the
latter to their well-being and happineſs. In ;
ſhort, if the performance of promiſes be ad.
vantageous, ſo is obedience to government:
If the former intereſt be general, ſo is the _
latter: If the one intereſt be obvious and 3
avow'd, ſo is the other. And as theſe two _
rules are founded on like obligations of in-
tereſt, each of them muſt have a peculiar
authority, independent of the other.
Burr 'tis not only the natural obligations
of intereſt, which are diſtin in promiſes
and allegiance ; but alſo the moral obliga-
tions of honour and conſcience: Nor does
the merit or. demerit. of the one depend in
the leaſt upon that of the other. And in-
deed, if we conſider the cloſe connexion
| there is betwixt the natural and moral obli-
gations, we ſhall find this concluſion to be
entirely unayoidable. Our intereſt is always
engag d on the fide of obedience to magi-
; ſtracy; and there is nothing but a great pre-
ſent n.. that can lead us to rebellion,
tat. L 4 by
152 A Treatiſe of Human Nature. ©
PAR r by making us over-look the remote intereſt,
II. which we have in the preſerving of peace
Of jules and order in ſociety. But tho a preſent in-
end inju- tereſt may thus blind us with regard to our
own actions, it takes not place with regard
to thoſe of others; nor hinders them from
appearing in their true colours, as highly
7 1 judicial tg .
11 in=partiouter, This naturally gives us an un-
. 985 + eaſineſs, in conſidering ſuch ſeditious and
„ , , diſloyal aftions, and makes us attach to
eee, them the idea of vice and moral deformity.
= 2 rs . Tis the ſame principle, which cauſes us to
1 * hy Ls asbl, ar qiſapprove of all kinds of private injuſtice,
and in particular of the breach of promiſes.
We blame all treachery and breach of faith ;
becauſe. we conſider, that the freedom and
extent of human commerce depend entirely
on a fidelity. with regard to promiſes. We
blame all diſſoyalty to magiſtrates ; becauſe
we perceive, that the execution of juſtice, in
the ability of poſſeſſion, its tranſlation by
eonſent, and the performance of
is impoſſible, without ſubmiſfion to govern-
ment. As there are here two- intereſts en-
tirely diſtinct from each other, they muſt
give riſe to two moral obligations, equally ſe-
parate and independant. Tho' there was no
| _ apnea premiſe in the world, go-
dennen |
3121
rr
Book III. 0% Aral. 153
vernment wou d fil de e all As.
and civiliz'd ſocieties; and if promiſes had VIII.
only their own proper obligation, without r |
the ſeparate ſanction of government, they/ror sf
wou'd have but little efficacy in ſuch ſoci-
eties. This ſeparates the boundaries of our
public and private duties, and ſhews that
the latter are more dependant on the former,
than the former on the latter. Education,
and the artifice of politicians, concur. t6-be- .
ſtow:a farther morality on loyalty, and = A img
| brand, all rebellion with a greater degree of a this
guilt and infamy. Nor is it a wonder, that
politicians ſhou'd be very induſtrious in in-
culcating fuch notions, where their ne
is ſo particularly concern 0.
Lx se thoſe arguments ſhou'd not peng
entirely concluſive (as I think they are) I
ſhall have recourſe to authority, and ſhalt
prove, from the univerſal conſent of man-
kind, that the obligation of ſubmiffion to
government is not deriv'd from any promiſe
of the ſubjects. Nor need any one wonder,
that tho I have all along endeavour'd' to
eſtabliſh my ſyſtem on pure reaſon, and have
ſcarce ever cited the judgment even of phi-
lofophers or hiſtorians on any article, Imo
now appeal to popular authority, and oppoſe
the ſentiments of the rabble to any philoſo-
+
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jk
13
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154
Pa RT phical reaſoning,
II.
— td
Of juſtice
and inju-
ſlics.
man Mature.
t muſt be obſerv d,
that the opinions of men, in this caſe, carry
with them a peculiar authority, and are, in
a great meaſure, infallible. The diſtinction
of moral good and evil is founded on the
pleaſure or pain, which reſults from the
view of any ſentiment, or character; and as
that pleaſure or pain cannot be unknown to
the perſon who feels it, it follows, that
there is juſt ſo much vice or virtue in any
A Treatiſe of H
character, as every one places in it, and. that
tis impoſſible in this particular we can ever
be miſtaken. And tho our judgments con-
cerning the origin of any vice or virtue, be
not ſo certain as thoſe concerning their de-
grees; yet, ſince the queſtion in this caſe re-
gards not any philoſophical origin of an ob-
ligation, but a plain matter of fact, tis not
eaſily conceiv'd how we can fall into an
error. A man, who acknowledges himſelf
to be bound to another, for a certain ſum,
muſt certainly know whether it be by his
own bond, or that of his father; whether it
be of his mere Sat or for Maney lent
him;
This propoſition muſt hold ſtrictly true, with regard to
every quality, that is determin'd- merely by ſentiment, In
what ſenſe we can talk either of a right or a wrong taſte in
morals, eloquence, or beauty, ſhall be conſider d afterwards.
In the mean, time, it may be.obſerv'd, that there is ſuch an
uniformity in the general of ned of mankind, as to Saas
ſuch queſtions of put ſmall importance.
1 , Moral. 155
him; under what conditions, and for SECT.
what purpoſes he has bound himſelf, In VIII.
| ke manner, it being certain, that. there is C%
„ 2 moral obligation to ſubmit to government, Y of |
becauſe every one thinks ſo; it muſt be as *
I CS. 2 Las | = . = 1 we >” —
certain, that this obligation ariſes not from a
promiſe ; ſince no one, - whoſe judgment has
not been led aſtray by too ſtrict adherence
to a ſyſtem, of philoſophy, has ever yet
dreamt of aſcribing it to that origin. Neither
— 8 nor ſubjects have form'd this
idea of our civil duties.
WIN find, that magiſtrates are ſo fin fm
deriving their authority, and the obligation
to obedience in their ſubjects, from the foun-
* dation of a promiſe or original contract,
» that they conceal, as far as poſſible, from
t their people, eſpecially from the vulgar, that
n they have their origin from thence. Were
If this the ſanction of government, our rulers
„ wou'd never receive it tacitly, which is the
is utmoſt that can be pretended ; ſince what is
it given tacitly and inſenſibly can never have
It ſuch influence on mankind, as what is per-
5 form'd expreſſly and openly. A tacit pro-
to miſe is, where the will is fignified by other
12 more diffuſe ſigns than thoſe; of ſpeech; but
ds. a will there muſt certainly be in the caſe,
an
and that can never eſcape the perſon” s no-
tice,
is6 ÞA Treatiſeof Human Mature.
P 13 who exerted it, however ſilent or tacit.
But were you to aſk the far greateſt'part of
Oh the nation, —— they had ever conſented
and in- to the authority of their rulers,” or promis d
iat, : obey them, they wor'd"be-Aticlin'd to
unk very ſtrangely of you; and wou' d cer-
fimly reply, that the affair depended not on
their conſent, but that they were born to
fach an obedience! In conſequence of this
opinion, we frequently ſee them imagine
fuch perſons to be their natural rulers, as
are at that time depriv'd of all power and
authority, and whom no man, however
fooliſh, wou'd voluntarily chuſe; and this
merely becauſe they are in that line, which
mPa before, and in that degree of it, which
ug d to ſucceed ;-tho' perhaps in ſo diſtant a
period, that ſcaree any man alive cou'd ever
have given any promiſe of obedience. Has
à government, then, no authority over ſuch
as theſe, becauſe they never conſented to it,
and wou'd eſteem the very attempt of ſuch
x free choice à piece of arroganee and im-
piety? We find by experience, that it pu-
niſhes them very freely for what it calls trea-
ſon and rebellion, which, it ſeems, accord-
ing to this ſyſtem, reduces itſelf to com-
mon injuſtice.” If you fay, that by dwelling
u its d minions, e to
S | the
J. ĩ?;1é.C. tre dd ong
Bock III.
this can only be, where they think the affair HI.,
beſide thoſe philoſophers, have ever yet lle
imagin' d. It never was pleaded as an „
cuſe for a rebel, that the firſt act he per-
form'd, after he came to years of diſcretion,
was to levy war againſt the ſovereign of
te ſtate; and that while he was a child he
cou' d not bind himſelf by his own conſent,
and having become a man, ſhow'd plainly,
by the firſt act he perform'd, that he had no
delign to impoſe on himſelf any obligation
to obedience, We find, on the contrary,
- that civil laws puniſh this crime at the ſame
age as any other, which is criminal, of | it» . \N
ſelf, without our conſent ; that is, when the
Whereas to this crime ' Sw ought in juſtice
to allow ſome intermediate time, in which
a tacit conſent at might be ſuppos d.
To which we may add, that a man living
under an abſolute government, wou'd owe
it no allegiance; fince, by its very nature,
it depends not on conſent. But as that is
as natural and common a government as any,
it muſt certainly occaſion ſome obligation;
and *tis plain from experience, that men,
who are ſubjected to it, do always think
| N 2
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158 4 Treatiſe 7 Human 2
Pax r ſo. This is a clear proof, that we do not
II. commonly eſteem our allegiance to be de-
7 rivd from our conſent or promiſe; and a
and ii. farther proof is, that when our promiſe is
* upon any account expreſsly engag d, we al-
ways diſtinguiſh exactly betwixt the two
obligations, and believe the one to add more
force to the other, than in a repetition of
the fame promiſe. Where no promiſe is
given, a man looks not on his faith as bro-
ken in private matters, upon account of
rebellion ; but keeps thoſe two duties of
honour and allegiance perfectly diſtinct and
ſeparate. As the uniting of them was
thought by theſe philoſophers a very ſubtle-
ile invention, this is a convincing proof, that
*tis not a true one; ſince no man can either
give a promiſe, or, be reſtrain'd by its ſanc-
tion and obligatioti unknown to himſelf. =
SECT. IX.
0 the beer of allegiance.
SECT. 0 8E political writers, who link
+ had recourſe to a promiſe, or origi-
nal contract, as the ſource of our allegiance
to government, intended to eſtabliſh a prin-
ciple, which is perfectly juſt and reaſonable;
: th 0”
3j » Db Doo
Book III. 5 Of Morals. |
tho the reaſoning, upon which they endea- SEC T.
vour d to eſtabliſh it, was fallacious and ſo- IX.
phiſtical. They wou'd prove, that our ſub- r |
miſſion to government admits of exceptions, 7
and that an egregious tyranny in the rulers giazce.
is ſufficient to free the ſubjects from all ties
of allegiance. Since men enter into ſociety,
ſay they, and ſubmit themſelves to govern-
ment, by their free and voluntary conſent,
they muſt have in view certain advantages,
which they propoſe to reap from it, and for
which they are contented to reſign their na-
tive liberty, There is, therefore, ſomething
mutual engag'd on the part of the magi-
ſtrate, vig. protection and ſecurity ; and tis
only by the hopes he affords of theſe ad-
tages, that he can ever perſuade men to
(ww mit to him. But when inſtead of pro-
on and ſecurity, they meet with tyranny
and oppreſſion, they are free'd from their
promiſes, (as happens in all conditional con-
tracts) and. return to that ſtate of liberty,
which | preceded the inſtitution of govern-
ment. Men wou'd never be ſo fooliſh as to
enter into ſuch engagements as ſhou'd turn
entirely to the advantage of others, without
any view of bettering their own condition,
Whoever propoſes to draw any profit from
our ſubmiſſion, muſt engage himſelf, cither
expreſſly
,
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160 Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pant expreſly or tacitly, to make us reap ſome
II. advantage from his authority ; nor ought he
bn to expect, that without the performance of
and dh. his part we will ever continue in obedience.
. 1 REPEAT it: This conclufion is juſt,
tho' the principles be erroneous ; and I flat-
ter myſelf, that I can eſtabliſh the ſame
eoncluſion on more reaſonable principles. I
ſhall not take ſuch a compaſs, in eſtabliſh-
ing our political duties, as to aſſert, that men
perceive the advantages of government ; that
they inſtitute government with a view to
thoſe advantages; that this inſtitution re-
quires a promiſe of obedience; which im-
poſes a moral obligation to a certain degree,
but being conditional, ceaſes to be binding,
whenever the other contracting party per-
forms not his part of the engagement. I
perceive, that a promiſe itſelf ariſes entirely
© from human conventions, and is invented
_ with a view to a certain intereſt, . I ſeek,
therefore, ſome ſuch intereſt more immedi-
ately connected with government, and which
may be at once the original motive to its in-
ſtiitution, and the ſource of our obedience to
it. This intereſt I find to conſiſt in the ſe-
_ curity and Protection, which we enjoy in
2 ſociety, and which we can never at-
tain, when perfectly free and independent.
(
Book III. Of Morals.
Asehe intereſt, therefore, is the immediate Sx G T.
ſanchon of government, the one can have IX.
no longer being than the other; and when- *
ever the civil magiſtrate carries his oppreſſion 5
ſo far as to render his authority perfectly —
intolerable, we are no longer bound to ſub-
mit to it. The cauſe ceaſes; the effect muſt
ceaſe alſo.
80 far the concluſion is . and
direct, concerning the natural obligation
which we have to allegiance. As to the
moral obligation, we may obſerve, that the
maxim wou'd here be falſe, that wen the
cauſe ceaſes, the effect muſt ceaſe alſo. |
there is a principle of human nature, which
we have frequently taken notice of, that
men are mightily addicted to general rules,
and that we often carry our maxims beyond
thoſe reaſons, which firſt induc'd us to
, eftabliſh them. Where caſes are fimilar in
many circumſtances, we are apt to put
them on the ſame footing, without con-
ſidering, that they differ in the moſt mate-
rial circumſtances, and that the reſemblance
is more apparent than real. It may, there-
fore, be thought, that in the caſe of alle-
giance our moral obligation of duty will
not ceaſe, even tho the natural obligation of
intereſt, which is its cauſe, has ceas d; and
Vox. III. M that
\
162 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART that men may be bound by conſcience o
II. ſubmit to a tyrannical government againſt.
Of ee, their own and the public intereſt. And
and inju- indeed, to the force of this argument I ſo far
"ſubmit, as to acknowledge, that general
rules commonly extend beyond the prin-
ciples, on which they are founded ; and
that we feldom make any exception to them,
unleſs that exception have the qualities of a
general rule, and be founded on very nu-
merous and common inſtances. Now this
I aflert to be entirely the prefent caſe.
When men ſubmit to the authority of
others, tis to procure themſelves ſome ſecu-
rity againſt the wickedneſs and injuſtice of
men, who are perpetually carried, by their
unruly paſſions, and by their preſent and
immediate intereſt, to the violation of all
the laws of ſociety. But as this imperfection
is inherent in human nature, we know that
it muſt attend men in all their ſtates and
conditions ; and that thoſe, whom we chufe
for rulers, do not immediately become of a
ſuperior nature to the reft of mankind, upon
account of their fuperior power and autho-
rity. What we expect from them depends not
on a change of their nature but of their ſitu-
ation, when they acquire a more immediate
intereſt in the preſervation. of order and the
* execution
,
.
3
2
—
of
e
0
IN
| exceſſes of cruelty And ambition. Our ge-
ſervation of the paſt hiſtory of mankind,
Book III. Of Morals. 163
execution of juſtice. But beſides that this 8 EC T.
intereſt is only more immediate in the ex- IX.
ecution of juſtice among their ſubjects; be- 1 „
ſides this, I ſay, we may often expect, from 2. 4 deejrute:
the irregularity of human nature, that they giance. /,/,,. - |
will neglect even this immediate intereſt, and am Coe,
be tranſported by, their paſſions into all the ö
Om? +» + ub,
neral knowledge of human nature, our ob-
our experience of preſent times; all theſe
cauſes muſt induce us to open the door to
exceptions, and muſt make us conclude,
that we may reſiſt the more violent effects
of ſupreme power, without any crime or
injuſtice,
AccoRDINGLY we may obſerve, that
this is both the general practice and principle
of mankind, and that no nation, that cou'd
find any remedy, ever yet ſuffer'd the cruel
ravages of a tyrant, or were blam'd for their
reſiſtance, Thoſe who took up arms againſt
Dionyfius or Nero, or Philip the ſecond, have
the fayour of every reader in the peruſal of
their hiſtory ; and nothing but the moſt
violent perverſion of common ſenſe can ever
lead us to condemn them. Tis certain,
therefore, that in all our notions of morals
we never entertain ſuch an 3 as that
3 of
164
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART of paſſive obedience, but make allowances
IL
5 juſt 2 of tyranny and oppreſſion. The general
and inju-
ice.
for reſiſtance in the more flagrant inſtances
opinion of mankind has ſome authority 3 in
all caſes; but in this of morals tis perfectly
infallible. Nor is it leſs infallible, becauſe
men cannot diſtin&tly explain the principles,
on which it is founded. Few perſons can
carry on this train of reaſoning : © Govern-
« ment is a mere human invention for the
ce intereſt of ſociety. Where the tyranny
ce of the governor removes this intereſt, it
ce alſo removes the natural obligation to obe-
& dience. The moral obligation is founded
c on the natural, and therefore muſt ceaſe
« where that ceaſes; eſpecially where the
ce ſubject is ſuch as makes us foreſee very
te many occaſions wherein the natural obli-
« gation may ceaſe, and cauſes us to form
&« a kind of general rule for the regulation
e of our conduct in ſuch occurrences.” But
tho' this train of reaſoning be too ſubtile for
the vulgar, tis certain, that all men have an
implicit notion of it, and are ſenſible, that
they owe obedience to government merely
on account of the public intereſt ; and at
the fame time, that human nature is fo
ſubject to frailties and paſſions, as may
eaſily pervert this inſtitution, and change
their
= «a as ww i.
that train of actions, which produces the
, ___. EEO
ciple than -publie intereſt ; and if intereſt
Book III. Of Morals. N 165
their governors into tyrants and public ene- S x c T.
mies. If the ſenſe of Pablte- intereſt were IX.
not our original motive to obedience, I 55 the
wou'd fain alk, what other principle is there .
in human nature capable of ſubduing the giance.
natural ambition of men, and forcing them
to ſuch a ſubmiſſion? Imitation and cuſtom
are not ſufficient, For the queſtion ſtill re-
curs, what motive firſt produces thoſe in-
ſtances of ſubmiſſion, which we imitate, and
cuſtom ? There evidently is no other prin-
firſt produces obedience to government, the
obligation to obedience muſt ceaſe, when-
ever the intereſt ceaſes, in any great degree,
and in a conſiderable number of inſtances.
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juſtifiable, both in ſound politics and X.
morality, to reſiſt ſupreme power, tis cer-
tain, that in the ordinary courſeFof Human
affairs nothing can be more pernicious and
criminal z and that beſides the convulſions,
| BB os which
166
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
P 1 RT which alwa my attend revolutions, ſuch a
practice ten directly to the ſubverſion of
ie SV Ul government, and the cauſing an univerſal
7 2 anarchy and confuſion among mankind. As
of
numerous and civiliz'd ſocieties cannot ſub-
ſiſt without government, ſo government is
entirely uſeleſs without an exact obedience.
We ought always to weigh the advantages,
which we reap from authority, againſt the
diſadvantages; and by this means we. ſhall
becqme more ſcrupulous of putting in prac-
tice the doctrine of reſiſtance. The com-
mon rule requires ſubmitfion ; and 'tis only
in caſes of grievous tyranny and oppreſſion,
that the exception can take place,
_ Since then ſuch a blind ſubmiſſion is
commonly due to magiſtracy, the next
queſtion is, fo whom it is due, and whom ue
are to regard as our lawful magiſtrates ?
In order to anſwer this queſtion, let us re-
collect what we have already eſtabliſh'd con-
cerning the origin of government and poli-
tical ſociety, When men have once expe-
rienc'd the impoſſibility of preſerving any
ſteady order in ſociety, while every one is his
own maſter and violates or obſerves the laws
according to his preſent intereſt
or pleaſure, they naturally run into the in-
| vention of government, and put jt out of
* 3 F | -.
/ . 6
Book III. Of Moruli. Why
their own power, as far as poſſible, to tranſ- S E er. |.
grels the, Jaws—ef—ſociety, Government, X. 1 24, f
therefore, ariſes from the voluntary conven- dei 7 |
tion of men; and tis evident, that the ſame — Jute
convention, which eſtabliſhes government,
will alſo determine the perſons who are to
| govern, and will remove all doubt and am-
biguity in this particular, And the volun-
tary conſent of men muſt here have the
greater efficacy, that the authority of the
magiſtrate does at firſt ſtand upon the foun-
| dation of a promiſe of the ſubjects, by
which they bind themſelves to obedience ; as
in every other contract or engagement. The
ſame promiſe, then, which binds them to
obedience, ties them down to a particular
perſon, and makes him the . of their
. allegiance.
?
Bur when a has been eſtabiſh'd
.on this footing for ſome conſiderable time,
5 and the ſeparate intereſt, which we have in
b ſubmiſſion, . has produc'd a ſeparate ſenti-
v ment of morality, the caſe is entirely alter'd,
y and a promiſe is no longer able to determine
A the particular magiſtrate ; fince it is no
bn longer conſider'd as the foundation of go-
c vernment. We naturally ſuppoſe ourſelves
* born to ſubmiſſion; and imagine, that ſuch
of particular perſons have a right to command,
ir 7 Nat . as
A Treatiſe of Human Nature. ©
PART as we on our part are bound to obey.
II.
. Of ju ice deriv d from nothing but the advantage eh |
Theſe notions of right and obligation are
- end iin reapt from government, which gives us a
ice,
repugnance to practiſe reſiſtance ourſelves,
and makes us diſpleas d with any inſtance
pol it in others. But here tis remarkable,
that in this new ſtate of affairs, the original
ſanction of government, which is intereſt,
is not admitted to determine the perſons,
whom we are to obey, as the original ſanc-
tion did at firſt, when affairs were on the
footing of a promiſe. A promiſe fixes and
determines the perſons, without any uncer-
tainty : But 'tis evident, that if men were
to regulate their conduct in this particular,
by the view of a peculiar intereſt, either
public or private, they wou'd involve them-
ſelves in endleſs confuſion, and wou'd render
all government, in a great meaſure, in-
effectual. The private intereſt of every one
is different; and tho' the public intereſt in
itſelf be always one and the ſame, yet it
becomes the ſource of as great diſſentions,
by reaſon of the different opinions of par-
ticular perſons concerning it. The ſame in-
tereſt, therefore, which cauſes us to ſubmit
to magiſtracy, makes us renounce itſelf in
the choice of our nn and binds us
down
Book III. Of Moral. 169
down to a certain form of government, and SEC r.
to particular perſons, without allowing us to X.
aſpire to the utmoſt perfection in either. G
The caſe is here the ſame as in that law Aliase
of nature concerning the ſtability of paſ-
| ſeſſion. Tis highly advantageous, and even
abſolutely neceſſary to ſociety, that poſſeſſion
ſhou'd be ſtable; and this leads us to the
eſtabliſhment of ſuch a rule: But we find,
that were we to follow the ſame advantage,
in aſſigning particular poſſeſſions to. particu-
lar perſons, we ſhou'd diſappoint our end,
and perpetuate the confuſion, which that
rule is intended to prevent. We muſt,
therefore, proceed by general rules, and re-
gulate ourſelves by general intereſts, in mo-
difying the law of nature concerning the
ſtability of poſſeſſion, Nor need we fear,
that our attachment to this law will diminiſh 7
upon account of the ſeeming frivolouſneſs
of thoſe intereſts, by which it is determin'd.
The impulſe. of the mind is deriv'd from a
yery ſtrong intereſt ; and thoſe other more
minute intereſts ſerve only to direct the mo-
tion, without adding any thing to it, or
diminiſhing from it. Tis the fame caſe
with government. Nothing is more advan-
tageous to ſociety than ſuch an invention;
png this intereſt is ſufficient to make us em-
| brace
|
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|
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np > ww Er 09
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17 4 A Treati 8 Nature.
| Pan brace it with ardour and alacrity; tho we | 4
II. are oblig'd afterwards to regulate and direct
Fan our devotion, to government by ſeveral con-
and in ſiderations, which are not of the fame im-
ice. portance, —
out having in view . particular advantage
from the choice. ._-
Tux firf of thoſe principles 1 ball e.
notice of, as a foundation of the right of
magiſtracy, is that which gives authority to,
, alrmeet all the K eſtabliſh'd governments of the
world without=excoption: I mean, long pe
ſeſſion in any one form of government, *
ſucceſſion of princes. Tis certain, that if
we remount to the firſt origin of every na-
tion, we ſhall find, that there ſcarce is any +
race of kings, or form of a commonwealth, þ..
that is not primarily founded on uſurpation
and rebellion, and whoſe title is not at firſt
worſe than doubttul and uncertain. Time
alone gives ſolidity to their right; and. ope-
rating gradually on the minds of men, re-
conciles them to any authority, and makes
it ſeem juſt and reaſonable. Nothing cauſes
any ſentiment to have a greater influence
upon us than cuſtom, or turns our imagina-
tion more ſtrongly to any object. When we
have been long accuſtom'd to obey auy ſet
of men, that general inſtinct or tendency,
which
4
Book III. O Moral.. 171
Wich we have to ſuppoſe a moral obligation 8 x r.
meending loyalty, takes cafily this direction, X.
| and — da ns
- "Tis intereſt which gives the general inſtinct
1 4 but ” tis cuſtom which _ the particular
A direction. |
Au here tis obſervable, that the fame
"length of time has a different influence on
38 our ſentiments of morality, according to its
different influence on the mind. We natu-
_ - - rally judge of every thing by compariſon ;
©. and fince in conſidering the fate of kingdoms
and republics, we embrace a long extent of
time, a ſmall duration has not in this caſe a
. like influence on our ſentiments, as when
we conſider any other object. One thinks
de acquires a right to a horſe, or a ſuit of
cloaths, in a very ſhort time; but a century
is ſcarce ſufficient to eſtabliſh any new go-
vernment, or remove all ſcruples in the
minds of the ſubjects concerning it. Add
to this, that a ſhorter period of time will
ſuffice to give a prince a title to any addi-
tional power he may uſurp, than will ſerve
to fix his right, where the whole is an
uſurpation, The kings of France have not
been poſſeſs d of abſolute power for above
two reigns; and yet nothing will appear
more extravagant to Frenchmen than to 5
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172
>.
. A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART of their liberties. If we conſider what has
been ſaid concerning acceſſion, we ſhall eaſily
Of ie account for this phænomenon.
and inju-
WHEN there is no form of government
eſtabliſh'd by Jong poſſeſſion, the preſent
poſſeſſion is ſufficient to ſupply its place,
and may be regarded as the ſecond ſource\of
all public authority. Right to authority is
nothing but the conſtant poſſeſſion of autho-
rity, maintain'd by the laws of ſociety and
the intereſts of mankind ; and nothing can
be more natural than to join this conſtant
poſſeſſion to the preſent one, according to
the principles above-mention'd, If the ſame
principles did not take place with regard to
the property of private perſons, twas be-
cauſe theſe principles were counter-ballanc'd
by very ſtrong conſiderations of intereſt ;
when we obſerv'd, that all reſtitution wou'd
by that means be prevented, and every vio-
lence be authoriz'd and protected. And
tho' the ſame motives may ſeem to have
force, with regard to public authority, yet
they are oppos'd by a contrary intereſt ;
which conſiſts in the preſervation of peace,
and the avoiding of all changes, which, how-
ever they may be eaſily produc'd in private
affairs, are unavoidably attended with blood-
8 ſhed
Book III. Of Moral.. D
ſhed and nn. -where the pots is SEC.
intereſted, _ 8.0
Any one, who finding the mpellhiles XY Of the
of accounting for the right of the preſent J&L
poſſeſſor, by any receiv'd ſyſtem of ethics, |
ſhou'd reſolve to deny abſolutely that right,
and aſſert, that it is not authoriz'd by mo-
rality, wou'd be juſtly thought to maintain
a very extravagant paradox, and to ſhock the
common ſenſe and judgment of mankind.
No maxim is more conformable, both to
' prudence and morals, than to ſubmit quietly
to the government, which we find eſtabliſh'd
in the country where we happen to live,
without enquiring too . curiouſly into its
origin and firſt eſtabliſhment. Few govern-
ments will bear being examin'd ſo rigorouſly.
How many kingdoms are there at preſent in
the world, and how many more do we find
in hiſtory, whoſe governors have no better
foundation for their authority than that of
preſent poſſeſſion? To confine ourſelves to
the Roman and Grecian empire; is it not
evident, that the long ſucceſſion of emperors,
from the diflolution of the Roman liberty,
to the final extinction of that empire by the
Turks, cou'd not ſo much as pretend to any
other title to the empire? The election of
| the ſenate was a mere farm, which always
| follow'd
—
194 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR follow'd the choice of the legions ; and
II. theſe were almoſt always divided in the dif-
8 ferent provinces, and nothing but the ſword
pd inju- was able to terminate the difference. "T'was
* by the ſword, therefore, that every emperor
acquir d, as well as defended his right; and
we muſt either ſay, that all the known
world, for ſo many ages, had no govern-
ment, and ow'd no allegiance to any one,
or muſt allow, that the right of the ſtronger,
in public affairs, is to be receiv'd as legiti-
mate, and authoriz d by morality, when not
oppos d by any other title. |
Tux right of conqueſt may be confider'd
as a third ſource of the title of ſovereigns.
This right reſembles very much that of pre-
ſent poſſeſſion; but has rather a ſuperior
force, being ſeconded by the notions of
glory and honour, which we aſcribe to con-
querors, inſtead of the ſentiments of hatred
and deteſtation, which attend ꝝſurpers. Men
naturally favour thoſe they love; and there»
fore are more apt to aſcribe a right to ſuc-
ceſsful violence, betwixt one ſoverign and
another, than to the ſucceſsful rebellion of a
| N Wurzn ©
It is not here that preſent pofſeſfon or conqueſt
are ſufficient to give a ti inſt lon efron and
Mr
Book III. Of Morals.
175
Wurx neither long poſſeſſion, nor pre-SECT,
ſent. poſſeſſion, nor conqueſt take place, as
when the firſt ſovereign, who founded any
monarchy, dies; in that caſe, the right of
ſucceſſion naturally prevails in their ſtead,
X.
{5 3
and men are commonly induc'd to place the
ſon of their late monarch on the throne,
and ſuppoſe him to inherit his father's
authority. The preſum'd conſent of the fa-
ther, the imitation of the ſucceſſion to pri-
vate families, the intereſt, which the ſtate
has in chuſing the perſon, who is moſt power-
ful, and has the moſt numerous followers z
all theſe reaſons lead men to prefer the ſon of
their late monarch to any other perſon *.
Tuns reaſons have ſome weight; but
I am perſuaded, that to one, who conſiders
impartially of the matter, 'twill appear, that
<here-eoneur ſome principles of the imagina-
g with thoſe views of, intereſt,
beable to to caſt the hallance where the titles are otherwiſe equal,
and will even be fufficient ſometimes to ſanctify the weaker
What degree of force they have is difficult to deter-
ur I believe all moderate men will allow, that they have
nn |
.. eee >
a JugTee an”
*
6 A Treat of W Mature.
PAR r life-time, by the natural tranſition of the
II. thought; and ſtill more after his death: 80
Se that nothing is more natural than to com-
2 Pleat this union by a new relation, and by
25 putting him actually in poſſeſſion of what
ſeems ſo naturally to belong to him.
To confirm this we may weigh the fol-
lowing phenomena, which are pretty curi-
ous in their kind. In elective monarchies
the. right of ſucceſſion has no place by the
laws and ſettled cuſtom; and yet its in-
fluence is fo natural, that tis impoſſible en-
tirely to exclude it from the imagination,
and render the ſubjects indifferent to the ſon
of their deceas'd monarch. Hence in ſome
governments of this kind, the choice com-
monly falls on one or other of the royal
family; and in ſome governments they are
all excluded. Thoſe contrary phenomena
proceed from the fame principle. Where
the royal family i is excluded, tis from a re-
finement in politics, which makes people
ſenſible of their propenſity to chuſe a ſo-
vereign in that family, and gives them a
jealouſy of their liberty, leſt their new
monarch, aided by this propenſity, ſhou'd
eſtabliſh his family, and deſtroy the free-
dom of elections for the future,
Tur
J
Rook: UE: Of Moral. 1577
younger Cyrics, may furniſh us with ſome X.
_ tended a right to the throne above his elder
this reaſon was valid. I wou'd only infer
as being begot. air his father u in reſted
Tun pl of Artaxerxes; and the SECT.
reflections to the ſame purpoſe. Cyrus pre- &.
refts of
brother, becauſe he was born after his
father's acceſſion. | I. do not pretend, that
from it, that he wou'd never have made uſe
of ſuch a pretext, were it not for the qua-
lities of the imagination above- mention d,
by which we are naturally inclin'd to unite by. |
a new relation whatever objects we find al-
ready united. Artaxerxes had an advantage
above his brother, as being the eldeſt ſon,
and the firſt in ſucceſſion: But Cyrus was
more cloſely related to the royal 8
wk it.
Snov' D it 1 be n that hd
view of convenience may be the ſource. of
all the right of ſucceſſion, and that men
gladly take advantage of any rule, by which
they can fix the ſucceſſor of their late ſo-
vereign, and prevent that anarchy and con-
fuſion, which attends all new elections: To I i
this I wou d anſwer, thatI-readily-alions, *
that, this- motive may contribute ſomething =
to the effect but at
en 1. b Wide ;
Vox. III.
*
3
* BY N
*
Pa R r ſuch a motive ſhou'd take place.
—
N
A Treati 0 1 Human Wature.
The i Me
II. tereſt of a nation requires, that the ſuc-
2
uf ice
M-
fice.
8 ceſſion to the crown ſhou'd be fix d one wa way
or other; but tis the ſame thing to its in-
tereſt in what way it be fixd: So that if
the relation of blood had not an effect in-
dependent of public intereſt, it wou'd never
have been regarded, without a poſitive law;
and twou'd have been impoſſible, that fo
many poſitive laws of different nations cou'd
ever have concur'd. preciſely. in ys es
views and intentions, #7
». Tarts leads us to conſider the fifth 8
of: authority, viz. poſſtive laus; when tlie
legiſlature eftabliſhes a certain form of go-
vernment and ſucceſſion of princes. At
firſt fight it may be thought, that this muſt
reſolve ito ſome of the preceding titles of
authority. The legillative power, whence
the poſitive lay is deriv'd, muſt either be
eſtabliſh by original contract, long poſ-
ſeſſion, preſent poſſeſſion, conqueſt, or ſuc-
deſſion; and conſequently the poſitive law
dev, but loſes conſiderably n 1 the'trank
muſt a en force from ſome of thoſe
principles But here tis remarkable; that
tho” x politive law can only derive Its foret
Hom. theſe” principles, yet it acquires not all
theforce'bf the principle from whence it is
tion;
18
and methods of ſucceſſion. The legillative 1 *
JJ 57 ITTTT TO
Book III. Of Moral. 179
tion; as it is natural to imagine. For © 6s CT.
ſtance ; 4.government is eſtabliſh'd for many X.
centuries on a certain ſyſtem of laws, forms, LY
power, eſtabliſh'd by this long ſucceſſion, © W
changes all on a ſudden the whole ſyſtem of
government, and introduces a new conſtitu-
tion in its ſtead, I believe few of the ſub-
jects will think themſelves bound to comply
with this alteration, unleſs it have an evi-
dent tendency, to the public good: But will
think themſelves ſtill at liberty to return to
the antient government. Hence the notion
of fundamental Jaws ; which are ſuppos d ta
be inalterable by the will of the ſovereign: ;
And of this nature the Salic law is under
ſtood to 'be in Prance. How far theſe funda - |
mental laws extend is not determin'd in any *
government; nor is it poſſible it ever ſnou d,
There is fuch an inſenſible gradation from |
the moſt material laws to the moſt trivial,
and from the moſt antient laws to the moſt
modern, chat 'twill be impoſſible "6 :
bounds to the legiſlative power, and, detere |
mine how far it may innovate in the prin-
ciples of govern ment. That is the work
more of 0 and paſſion. than of
117 23
reaſon,” aj 62 ta
| + 4.2 25 4891 (77 474 52 1
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Part 1 |
II. Wnuorvrx coins s hiftory LY, the
e E ſeveral nations of the world; 7584 revolu-
45 ide. tions, congveſts, increaſe, and diminution; ;
ice,
the manner in which their particular go-
vernments are eſtabl it'd, and che ſucceſſive
right tranſmitted from one perſon to another,
will ſoon learn to treat very lightly all dif-
putes concerning, the rights of princes, and
will be convinc'd, that a ſtrict adherence to
any general rules. and the rigid loyalty to
particular perſons and families, on Which
ſome people ſet ſo high a value, are virtues
that hold leſs of reaſon, than of bigotry and
ſuperſtition. In this particular, the ſtudy of
hiſtory confirms the reaſonings of true philo-
ſophy; which, ſhewing us the original quali-
ties of human nature, teaches us to regard the
controverſies in politics as incapable of any
deciſion in moſt caſes, and as enticely ſubor-
dinate to the intereſts of peace and liberty.
Where the public good does not evidently
demand a change 'tis certain, that the con-
currence of all thoſe titles, original contract,
Jong poſſeſſion, preſent poſſeſſion, ſucceſſan, and
poſitive laws, forms the ſtrongeſt. title to
eee and is juſtly regarded as ſacred
and inviolable. But when theſe titles are
mingled and oppos d in different degrees,
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they often occafion perplexity ; and are les SE Or.
capable of ſolution from the arguments of X.
lawyers and philoſophers, than from the =" og |
{words of the ſoldiery. Who ſhall tell me, 444 2
for inſtance, whether Germanicus, or Druſus,
ought to have ſucceeded Tiberius, had he
died while they were both alive, without
naming any of them for his ſacceflor ?
Ought the right of adoption to be receid d
as equivalent to that of blood in a nation,
has! it had the ſame effect in private fami-
lies, and had already, in two inſtances, taken
place in the public? Ought Germanicus to
be eſteem'd the eldeſt ſon, becauſe he was
born before Druſus ; or the younger, becauſe
he was adopted after the birth of his brother ?
Ought the right of the elder to be regarded
in a nation, where the eldeſt brother had no
adyantage in the ſucceſſion to private fami-
lies? Ought the Roman empire at that time
to be eſteem'd hereditary, becauſe of two
examples; or ought it, even ſo early, to be
regarded as belonging to the Archer” or the
preſent poſſeſſor, as being founded on ſo
recent an uſurpation? Upon whatever prin-
ciples we may pretend to anſwer theſe ahd
ſuch like queſtions, I' am afraid we hall
never be able to ſatisfy an impartial enquirer,
« Atho adopts no * political controver-
N 3 ſies,
182 me ee Nature...
PART ſies, and will be ſatisfied with . bur
II. ſound reaſon and philoſophy, ..
Of juftice
a ije- Bur bet an Engliſh reader will be apt
fi to enquire concerning that famous revolu-
tion, which has had ſuch a happy influence
on our conſtitution, and has been attended
with ſuch mighty conſequences. We have
already remark'd, that in the caſe of enor-
mous tyranny and oppreſſion, tis lawful to
take arms even againſt ſupreme power ; and
that as government is a mere human inven-
tion for mutual advantage and ſecurity, it
no longer impoſes any obligation, either
natural or moral, when once it ceaſes to
have that tendency, But tho' this general
principle be authoriz'd by common ſenſe,
and the practice of all ages, tis certainly
impoſſible for the laws, or even for philo-
Wee to eſtabliſh any particular rules, by
which we may know when reſiſtance is
lawful ; and decide all controverfies, which
may ariſe on that ſubject. This may not
only happen with regard to ſupreme power ;
but tis poſſible, even in ſome conſtitu-
tions, where the legiſlative authority is not
lodg'd in one perſon, that there may be a
| magiſtrate ſo eminent and powerful, as to
oblige the bak] to keep ſilence in this par-
| _ ticular,
| Book II. Of Moral.. 183
BY *ticular. Nor ae, this ſilence be an effect Sx c To
: "a of their reſpeet, but alſo of their pru-
.. dence; ſince tis certain, that in the vaſt va- of te _
riety of circumſtances, which occur in all *7= 2.
governments, a an exerciſe of power, in ſo .z N
great a magiſtrate, may at one time be bene-
| ficial to the public, which at another time
wou'd be pernicious and tyrannical. But
notwithſtanding this filence of the laws in
limited monarchies, 'tis certain, that the
people {till retain the right of reſiſtance ;
ſince tis impoſſible, even in the moſt deſ-
potic governments, to deprive them of it.
The ſame neceſſity of ſelf⸗ preſervation, and
the ſame motive of publjc good, give them
the ſame liberty in the one caſe as in the
other. And we may farther obſerve, that
| in ſuch mix'd governments „the caſes,
wherein reſiſtance is lawful, muſt occur
much oftener, and greater indulgence be
given to the ſubjects to defend themſelves
*
#|
4
by force of arms, than in arbitrary govern-
t ments. Not only where the chief magiſtrate
enters into meaſures, in themſelves, ex-
{ tremely pernicious to the public, but even
t | when he wou'd encroach on the other
I of the conſtitution, and extend his power
* beyond the legal bounds, it is allowable to
. reſiſt and dethrone him; tho ſuch reſiſtance
. N 4 and
184
A Treat! k F' Bahn Natur; i
PA} x and violence may, in the general tenor” of
op. Wh laws, be deem'd unlawful and rebellious, _
GY For beſides that nothing is more eſſential :
Of juſt ce
ard inju- to public intereſt, than the preſervation of
fee,
public liberty; tis evident, that if ſuch a
mix'd government be once ſuppos'd to be
_ eſtabliſh'd, every part or member of the
conſtitution muſt have a right of ſelf-defence,
and of maintaining its antient bounds againſt
the encroachment of every other authority.
As matter wou'd have been created in vain,
were it depriv'd of a power of reſiſtance,
without which no part of it cou'd preſerve
a diſtin exiſtence, and the whole might be·
crowded up into a ſingle point: : So 'tis A
groſs abſurdity to ſuppoſe, in any govern-
ment, a right without a remedy, or allow,
that the ſupreme power 1s ſhar'd with the
people, without allowing, that 'tis lawful
for them to defend their ſhare againſt eyery
invader. Thoſe, therefore, who wou'd ſeem
to reſpect our free government, and yet deny
the right of reſiſtance, have renounc'd all
pretenſions to common ſenſe, and do not
merit a ſerious anſwer.
Ir does not belong to my preſent pur-
poſe to ſhew, that theſe general principles
are applicable to the late revolution; and that
all the rights and privileges, which ought
0
TY
*
Book III. 07 Morats..
." "ih be ſacredd to a free nation, were at that 8E C T.
time threaten d with the utmoſt danger. I
am better pleas d to leave this controverted g
ſubject, if it really admits of controverſy;
and to indulge myſelf in ſome philoſophical
165
5
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—
ance,
reflections, which OY" . ber _—_ |
| important event. l
Firſt, We may e an ſhow's th
hrds and commons in our conſtitution, with-
out any reaſon: from public intereſt, either
depoſe the king 1 in being, or after his'death
or his attempts for a tyrannieal and deſpotie
exclude the prince, who, by laws and ſettled
_ cuſtom, ought to ſucceed, no one wou'd'
eſteem their proceedings legal, or think
themſelves bound 'to comply with them.
But ſhou'd the king, by his unjuſt practices,
power, juſtly forfeit his legal, it then not
only becomes morally lawful and ſuitable to
the nature of political ſociety to dethrone
bim; but what is more, we are apt likewiſe |
to think, that the remaining members of the
conſtitution acquire a right of excluding his
next heir, and of chuſing whom they pleaſe
for his ſucceſſor. This is founded on a very
ſingular quality of our thought and imagi-
nation. When a king forfeits his au thority,
his heir ought naturally to remain in the
fame fituation, as if the king were remoy'd
by
x86 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
a ved unleſs by mixing himſelf in the
tyranny, he forfeit it for himſelf. But tho
Of iuſlice this may ſeem reaſonable, We eaſily comply
If juftt
and inju-\ with the contrary opinion. The depoſition
on an” > king, in ſuch a government as ours, is
certainly an act beyond all common autho-
rity, and an illegal aſſuming a power for
public good, which, in the ordinary courſe
of government, can belong to no member
of the conſtitution. When the public good
is ſo great and ſo evident as to juſtify the
action, the commendable uſe of this licence
cauſes us naturally to attribute to the parlia-
ment a right of uſing farther licences; and
the antient bounds of the laws being once
tranſgreſſed with approbation, we are not apt
to be ſo ſtrict in confining ourſelves preciſely
within their limits. The mind naturally
runs on with any train of action, which it
has begun; nor do we commonly make any
ſcruple concerning our duty, after the firſt
action of any kind, which we perform.
Thus at the revolution, ne-ene who thought
the depoſition of the father juſtifiable ,
eſteem'd themſelves to be confin'd to his
infant ſon ; tho had that unhappy monarch
died innocent at that time, and had his fon,
by any accident, been convey'd beyond ſeas,
there is no doubt but a regency wou'd have
deen
Book III. Of Morals. 187
been appointed till he ſhou'd come to age, SECT.
and cou d be reſtor d to his dominions. As A
the ſlighteſt properties of the imagination 6 N
have an effect on the judgments of the fare 75
people, it ſhews the wiſdom of the laws
and of the parliament to take advantage of
ſuch properties, and to chuſe the magiſtrates
either in or out of a line, according as the
vulgar will moſt naturally attribute authority
and right to them.
Secondly, Tho' the acceſſion of the Prince
of Orange to the throne might at firſt give
occaſion to many diſputes, and his title be
conteſted, it qught not now to appear doubt-
ful, but muſt have acquir'd a ſufficient au-
thority from thoſe three princes, who have
ſucceeded him upon the ſame title, No-
thing is more uſual, tho' nothing way, at
firſt fight, appear more unreaſonable, than
this way of thinking. Princes often ſeem to
acquire a right fram their ſucceſſors, as well
as from their anceſtors; and a king, who
during his life-time might juſtly be deem'd
| an uſurper, will be regarded by poſterity
as a lawful prince, becauſe he has had the
good fortune to ſettle his family on the
throne, and entirely change the antient form
of government. Julius Ceſar is regarded
as the ack Roman emperor ; while Hyla and
Marius,
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„ A Treati ike of Human Mature.
PART Marius, whoſe titles were really the ſame
II. as his, are treated as tyrants and uſurpers.
SN Time and cuſtom give authority to all forms
art in. of government, and all ſucceſſions of princes;
and that power, which at firſt was founded
only on injuſtice and violence, becomes in
time legal and obligatory. Nor does the
mind reſt chere; but returning back upon
its footſteps, transfers to their predeceſſors
and anceſtors that right, which it naturally
aſcribes to the poſterity, as being related to-
gether, and united in the imagination. The
preſent king of France makes Hugh Caper |
a more lawful prince than Cromwell ; as the
eſtabliſh'd liberty of the Dutch is no incon-
Kderable apology for their obſtinate reſiſtance
to Philip the ſecond. |
8 E C T. XI.
- of the laws of nations. oy
SECT. HEN civil government has been
XI. eſtabliſh'd over the greateſt part of
e mankind, and different ſocieties have been
form d contiguous to each other, there ariſes
a new ſet of duties among the neighbour-
ing ſtates, ſuitable to the nature of that
W which they carry on with each
| other,
Book . of 6 200
other. Political writers tell us, be
kind of intercourſe, a body politic is to be
confider'd as one perſon ; ; and indeed this of .
aſſertion is ſo far juſt, that different nations, 27g, —
as well as private perſons, require mutual
afſiſtance ; at the ſame time that their ſelfiſh-
neſs, and ambition are perpetual ſources of
war and diſcord, But tho' nations in this
particular reſemble individuals, yet as they are
very different in other reſpects, no wonder
they regulate themſelves by different maxims,
and give riſe to a new ſet of rules, which
we call the laws of nations. Under this
head we may comprize the facredneſs of
the perſons of ambaſſadors, the. declaration
of war, the abſtaining from poiſon d arms,
with other duties of that kind, which are
evidently calculated--for the commerce, that
I peculiar to different ſacicties. W019
Bo T tho theſe rules be ſuper- added to
che laws of nature, the former do not en- of
tirely aboliſh. the latter ; and one may. ſafely |
affirm, that the three fundamental rules of 1
' juſtice, the ſtability of poſſeſſion, its tranſ- |
ference by conſent, and the performance of 42
promiſes, are duties of princes, ag well as of |
ſubjects. The ſame intereſt produces the
| fame effect in both caſes, * Where poſſeſſion
has no ability, . there. muſt be |
Z 74 7
Y EI
190 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pax war. Where property is not transfer d by
II. conſent, there can be no commerce. Where
Se promiſes are not obſery'd, there can be no
ard inja- leagues nor alliances The advantages,
_ therefore, of peace, commerce, and mutual
ſuccour, make us extend to different king-
doms the fame notions of juſtice, which
take place among individuals,
TyrRs is a maxim very current in the
world, which few politicians are willing to
avow, but which has been authoriz d oy
the practice of all ages, that there is
em of morals calculated for princes, at
more free than that which ought to govern
private perſons. Tis evident this is not to
be underſtood of the leſſer extent of public
duties and obligations ; nor will any one be
ſo extravagant as to aſſert, that the moſt
ſolemn treaties ought to have no force among
princes, For as princes do aQually form
treaties among themſelves, they muſt pro-
poſe ſome advantage from the execution of
them; and the proſpe& of ſuch advantage |
for the futute muſt engage them to perform
their part. and muſt eſtabliſh that law of
nature. The meaning, therefore, of this
political maxim is, that tho” the morality of
princes” has the fame extent, yet it has not
the Ame force” as that of private 2
an
and may — bs: td FIR aS2or,
more trivial motive. However ſhocking IX.
ſuch a propoſition may appear to certain — 5 |
philoſophers, 'twill be eaſy to defend: it upon {= v
thoſe principles, by which we have ac-
counted for the origin of juſtice and equity.
Wren men have found by experience,
that tis impoſſible to ſubſiſt without ſociety,
and that 'tis impoſſible to maintain ſociety,
while they give free courſe to their appetites;
ſo urgent an intereſt quickly reſtrains their
actions, and impoſes an obligation to abſerve
thoſe rules, which we call the laws of juſtice.
This obligation of intereſt reſts not here;
but by the neceſſary courſe of the paſſions
and ſentiments, gives riſe to the moral obli-
gation of duty; while we approve of ſuch.
actions as tend to the peace of ſociety, and
diſapprove of ſuch as tend to its diſturbance.
The ſame natural obligation of intereſt
takes place among independent kingdoms,
and gives riſe. to the ſame norality; ſo that
no one of ever ſo corrupt morals will ap-
prove of a prince, who voluntarily, and of
his own accord, breaks his word, or violates
any treaty. But here we may obſerve, that
tho the intercourſe of: chiles Hates bend
vantageous, and even ſometimes | 2
TOE ſo neceſſary nor advantageous as
that
— *
b 2
—
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.-
192
PA x T that among individuals, without which tis
II. utterly impoflible for human nature ever to
Gs ſubſiſt. Since, therefore; the natural obli-
2 %. gation to juſtice, among different ſtates, is
er" ve. to ſtrong as among individuals, the no-
ral obligation, which ariſes from it; muſt
partake of its weakneſs; and we muſt neceſ-
farily give a greater indulgence to a prince
or miniſter, who deceives another ; than to
a private gentleman, who breaks his word of
honour. —
Suov'p it be aſl d, what proportion theſe
tuo ſpecies of morality bear to each other ?
I wou'd anſwer, that this is a queſtion, te
which we can never give any preciſe anſwer ;
nor is it poſſible to reduce to numbers the
proportion, which we ought to fix betwixt
them. One may ſafely affirm, that this
proportion finds itſelf, without any art or
ſtudy of men; as we may obſerve on many
other occaſions. The practice of the world
goes farther in teaching us the degrees of our
duty, than the moſt ſubtile philoſophy, which
was ever yet invented. And this may ſerve
as a convincing proof, that all men have an
implicit notion of the foundation of thoſe
moral rules concerning natural and civil ju-
ſtice, and are ſenſible, that they ariſe merely
trom 33 and from the in-
— — — 0
2681101 tereſt
5
|
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1
S
n
d
*
7
-
ſt
Bock III. Of Morals. 5 193
tereſt, which we have in the preſeryation of SECT.
peace and order. For otherwiſe the dimi- XI.
nation of the intereſt wou d never produce & 24, ©
a relaxation of the morality, and reconcile ,
us more caſily to any tranſgreſſion of juſtice
among princes and republics, than in the-
private commerce of one ſubject with ano-
ther. |
$E CT. XII.
0 cbaftity and madefhy.
%
F any difficulty attend this fyſtem con- Sec T. .
cerning the laws of nature and nations, XII.
_ *twill be with regard to the univerfal appro. -
| bation or blame, which follows their ob-
ſervance or tranſgreſſion, and which ſome
may not think ſufficiently explain'd from
the general intereſts of ſociety. To remove,
as far as poſſible, all ſeruples of this kind, I
ſhall here conſider another ſet of duties, viz.
the modey and chaſtity: which belong to
the fair ſex: And I doubt not but theſe
virtues will be found to be ftill more con-
ſpicuous inſtances of the operation of thoſe
principles, which I have inſiſted on.
Vox. III. O Turns
194 A Treatiſe of Human Wature.
PART THERE are ſome philoſophers, who at-
II. tack the female virtues with great vehe-
Of joftice mence, and fancy they have gone very far
and/ i- in detecting popular errors, when they can
. ſhow, that there is no foundation in nature
for all that exterior modeſty, which we re-
quire in the expreſſions, and dreſs, and be-
haviour of the fair ſex. I believe I may
ſpare myſelf the trouble of infiſting on fo
obvious a ſubject, and may proceed, with-
out farther preparation, to examine after
what manner ſuch notions ariſe from educa-
tion, from the voluntary conventions of
men, and from the intereſt of ſociety.
WHroeveR conſiders the length and
feebleneſs of human infancy, with the con-
cern which both ſexes naturally have for
their offspring, will eaſily perceive, that
there muſt be an union of male and female
for the education of the young, and that
this union muſt be of conſiderable dura-
tion. But in order to induce the men to
impoſe on themſelves this reſtraint, and un-
dergo chearfully all the fatigues and expences,
to which it ſubjects them, they muſt be-
lieve, that the children are their own, and
that their natural inſtinct is not directed to a
wrong object, when they give a looſe to
love and tenderneſs, Now it we examine
1 i} the
Book III. Of Morals. 195
the ſtructure of the human body, we ſhallS EC.
find, that this ſecurity is very difficult to be XII.
attain'd on our part; and that fince, in the , |
copulation of the ſexes, the principle * —
generation goes from the man to the wo-
man, an error may eaſily take place on the
fide of the former, tho it be utterly im-
poſſible with regard to the latter. From this
trivial and anatomical obſervation is deriv'd
that vaſt difference betwixt the education and
duties of the two ſexes.
WERE a philoſopher to examine the
matter @ priori, he wou'd reaſon after the
following manner. Men are induc'd to la-
bour for the maintenance and education of
their children, by the perſuaſion that they
are really their own; and therefore tis rea-
ſonable, and even neceſſary, to give them
ſome ſecurity in this particular. This ſecu-
rity cannot conſiſt entirely in the impoſing
of ſevere puniſhments on any tranſgreſſions
| of conjugal fidelity on the part of the wife;
, ſince theſe public puniſhments cannot be
| inflicted without legal proof, which 'tis diffi-
cult to meet with in this ſubject. What
reſtraint, therefore, ſhall we impoſe on wo
men, in order to counter*þalanee' ſo fog
a temptation as they have To'fidelityP® There
ſeems to be no reſtraint poſſible, but in the
E 2 puniſhment
e —_—_ "x
196
PART puniſhment of bad fame or reputation; a
IT. puniſhment, which has a mighty influence
CL I
Of juſtice
and inju-
Pice.
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
on the human mind, and at the ſame time
is inflicted by the world upon ſurmizes, and
conjectures, and proofs, that wou'd never
be receiv'd in any court of judicature. In
order, therefore, to impoſe a due reſtraint
on the female ſex, we muſt attach a pecu-
liar degree of ſhame to their infidelity, above
what ariſes merely from its injuſtice, and
muſt beſtow proportionable praiſes on their
chaſtity. |
Bur tho” this be a very ſtrong motive to
fidelity, our philoſopher wou'd quickly diſ-
cover, that it wou'd not alone be ſufficient
to that purpoſe. All human creatures, eſpe-
cially of the female ſex, are apt to over- look
remote motives in favour of any preſent
temptation : The temptation is here the
ſtrongeſt imaginable: Its approaches are in-
ſenſible and ſeducing: And a woman eaſily
finds, or flatters herſelf ſhe ſhall find, cer-
tain means of ſecuring her reputation, and
preventing all the pernicious conſequences of
her pleaſures. Tis neceſſary, therefore, that,
beſide the infamy attending ſuch licences,
there ſhou'd be ſome preceding backwardneſs
or dtead, whicff fay prevent their firſt ap-
proaches, and may give the female ſex a
9555 repugnance
r
Book III, Of Moral. 197
repugnance to all expreſſions, and poſtures, SE c r.
. and liberties, that have an immediate rela- XII. |
> tion to that enjoyment. Of chafy g
| Suck wou'd be the reaſonings of our wah i
r ſpeculative philoſopher : But I am perſuaded, *
1 that if he had not a perfect knowledge of
t human nature, he wou'd be apt to regard
A them as mere chimerical ſpeculations, and
e uwou' d conſider the infamy attending infide-
4 lity, and backwardneſs to all its approaches,
ir as principles that were rather to be wiſh'd
than hop'd for in the world. For what
0 means, wou'd he ſay, of perſuading man-
i; kind, that the tranſgreſſions of conjugal
\t duty are more infamous than any other kind
e- of injuſtice, when tis evident they are more
k excuſable, upon account of the greatneſs of
nt the temptation ? And what poſſibility of
ne giving a backwardneſs to the approaches of
n- a pleaſure, to which nature has inſpir'd fo
ly ſtrong a propenſity ; and a propenſity that
r- tis abſolutely neceſſary in the end to comply *
ad with, for the ſupport of the ſpecies?
of Bur ſpeculative reaſonings, which coſt
at, N fo much pains to philoſophers, are often
es, | form'd by the world naturally, and without
eſs reflection: As difficulties, which ſeem un-
p- ſurmountable in theory, are eaſily got over
a in practice. Thoſe, who have an intereſt
ice O 3 | in
198
II.
ice.
aa 2.0
1 * t be o eat,
ien,
1 3 te gene. a
10 Fs 89G
. ce et.
5 —
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART in the fidelity of women, naturally diſ-
_ approve of their infidelity, and all the ap-
——
Of juftice proaches to it. Thoſe, who have no in-
and inju- tereſt, are carried along with the ſtream,
Education takes poſſeſſion of the ductile
minds of the fair ſex in their infancy. And
when a. general rule of this kind is once
eſtabliſh'd, men are apt to extend it beyond
thoſe principles, from which it firſt aroſe.
Thus batchelors, however debauch'd, cannot
chuſe but be ſhock'd with any inſtance/ of
lewdneſs or impudence in women. And
tho' all theſe maxims have a plain reference
to generation, yet women paſt child-bearing
have no more privilege in this reſpect, than
thoſe who are in the flower of their youth
and beauty. Men have undoubtedly an im-
plicit notion, that all thoſe ideas of modeſty
and decency have a regard to generation ;
ſince they impoſe not the ſame laws, with
the ſame force, on the male ſex, where that
reaſon takes not place. The exception is
there obvious and extenſive, and founded on
a remarkable difference, which produces a
clear ſeparation and disjunction of ideas.
But as the caſe is not the fame with regard
- to the different ages of women, for this
reaſon, tho' men know, that theſe notions
are founded on the public intereſt, yet the
general
—
Book III. Of Morals. 199
general rule carries us beyond the original SE CT.
principle, and makes us extend the notions XII.
of modeſty over the whole ſex, from their C Of chaſtity
carlieſt infancy to their extremeſt old- age 27 ax
and infirmity.
Courace, which is the point of honour
among men, derives its merit, in a great
meaſure, from artifice, as well as the chaſtity
of women; tho” it has alſo ſome foundation
in nature, as we ſhall ſee afterwards,
As to the obligations which the male
{ex lie under, with regard to chaſtity, we
may obſerve, that according to the general
notions of the world, they bear nearly the
ſame proportion to the obligations of women,
as the obligations of the law of nations do
to thoſe of the law of nature. Tis con-
trary to the intereſt of civil ſociety, that
men ſhou'd have an entire liberty of in-
dulging their appetites in venereal enjoyment :
But as this intereſt is weaker. than in the
caſe of the female ſex, the moral obligation,
ariſing from it, muſt be proportionably
weaker, And to proye this we need only
appeal to the practice and ſentiments of all
nations and ages.
0 4 PART
fc.
. — — —
3 4
( 201 )
) *
e he
S
— 22 —
PART III.
Of the other virtues and vices.
r
SECT. I.
Of the origin of the natural virtues
and vices.
E come now to the examination of 8 x c T.
ſuch virtues and vices as are entirely I.
natural, and have no dependance on the ar-
tifice and contrivance of men. The exami-
nation of theſe will conclude this ſyſtem of
morals. _
Tur chief ſpring or actuating principle
of the human mind is pleaſure or pain ; and
when theſe ſenſations are remov'd, both from
our thought and feeling, we are, in a great
meaſure, incapable of paſſion or action, of
deſire or volition. The moſt immediate
effects of * re and pain are the propenſe
and
—
——— — ä = I — 2 £ "_
202
Ke. wart
Of the
A Treatiſe of Human Wature.
PAR x and averſe motions of the mind; which are
diverſified into volition, into defire and aver-
din, grief and joy, hope and fear, accord-
— ing as the pleaſure or pain changes its ſitu-
tues and
VICeS.
ation, and becomes probable or improbable,
certain or uncertain, or is conſider'd as out
of our power for the preſent moment. But
when along with this, the objects, that cauſe
pleaſure or pain, acquire a relation to our-
ſelves or others; they ſtill continue to excite
defire and averſion, grief and joy: But
cauſe, at the ſame time, the indire& paſſions
of pride or humility, love or hatred, which
in this cafe have a double relation of im-
preſſions and ideas to the pain or pleaſure,
Wr have already obſerv'd, that moral
diſtinctions depend entirely on certain pe-
culiar ſentiments of pain and pleaſure, and
that whatever mental quality in ourſelves or
others gives us a ſatisfaction, by the ſurvey or
reflection, is of courſe virtuous ; as every
thing of this nature, that gives uneaſineſs,
is vicious. Now fince every quality in our-
ſelves or others, which gives pleaſure, al-
ways cauſes pride or love; as every one, that
produces uneaſineſs, excites humility or ha-
tred: It follows, that theſe two particulars
are to be confider'd as equiyalent, with regard
to our mental qualities, virtue and the power
of
* T „
1
Book I. Of Morals.
of producing love or pride, vice and the Sz Cr.
_ of procuring humility or hatred. In
every caſe, therefore, we muſt judge of the Of the |
one by the other; and may pronounce any 277 of
quality of the mind virtuous, which cauſes - —
love or pride; and any one vicious, which
cauſes hatred or humility. :
Ir any action be either virtuous or vicious,
'tis only as a fign of ſome quality or cha-
rater, It muſt depend upon durable prin-
ciples of the mind, which extend over the
whole conduct, and enter into the perſonal
character. Actions themſelves, not proceed-
ing from any conſtant principle, have no
influence on love or hatred, pride or humi-
mility ; and conſequently are never con-
fider'd in morality.
Tus reflection is ſelf-evident, and de-
ſerves to be attended to, as being of the ut-
moſt importance in the preſent ſubject. We
are never to conſider any ſingle action in
our enquiries· concerning the origin of morals;
but only the quality or character from which
the action proceeded. Theſe alone are dura-
ble enough to affect our ſentiments concern-
ing the perſon. Actions are, indeed, better
indications of a character than words, or
even wiſhes and ſentiments; but tis only ſo
far as they are ſuch indications, that they
are
204 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART are attended with love or hatred, praiſe or
III. blame.
Of the To diſcover the true origin of morals, and
other vir- of that love or hatred, which ariſes from
vice. mental qualities, we muſt take the matter
pretty deep, and compare ſome principles,
which have been . examin'd and ex-
plain d.
Wr may . with conſidering a- new
the nature and force of ſympathy. The
minds of all men are fimilar in their feelings
and operations; nor can any one be actuated
by any affection, of which all others are
not, in ſome degree, ſuſceptible, As in
ſtrings equally wound up, the motion of
one communicates itſelf to the reſt ; fo all
the affections readily paſs from one perſon
to another, and beget correſpondent move-
ments in every human creature, When I
ſee the effects of paſſion in the voice and
geſture of any perſon, my mind imme-
diately paſſes from theſe effects to their
cauſes, and forms ſuch a lively idea of the
paſſion, as is preſently converted into the
paſſion itſelf, In like manner, when I per-
ceive the cauſes of any emotion, my mind
is convey'd to the effects, and is actuated
with a like emotion, Were I preſent at any
of the more terrible operations of ſurgery,
tis
Book III. Of Marali. 205
tis certain, that even before it begun, the * 7
reparation of the inſtruments, the laying
of the bandages in order, the heating of the 5
irons, with all the ſigns of anxiety and con- ii
cern in the patient and aſſiſtants, wou'd have ro! vi-
a great effect upon my mind, and excite the 1
ſtrongeſt ſentiments of pity and terror. No
paſſion of another diſcovers itſelf immedi-
ately to the mind. We are only ſenſible
of its cauſes or effects. From theſe we in-
fer the paſſion: And conſequently theſe give
riſe to our ſympathy.
Ou ſenſe of beauty depends very much
on this principle; and where any object has
a tendency to produce pleaſure in its poſſeſſor,
it is always regarded as beautiful; as every
object, that has a tendency to produce pain,
Is diſagreeable and deform'd. Thus the con-
veniency of a houſe, the fertility of a field,
the ſtrength of a horſe, the capacity, ſecu-
rity, and ſwift-ſailing of a veſſel, form the
principal beauty of theſe ſeveral objects.
Here the object, which is denominated beau-
tiful, pleaſes only by its tendency to pro-
duce a certain effect. That effect is the
pleaſure or advantage of ſome other perſon.
Now the pleaſure of a ſtranger, for whom
we have no friendſhip, pleaſes us only by
W 2 To this principle, therefore, is
a owing
206
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR r owing the beauty, which we find in every
thing that is uſeful, How conſiderable a
e part this is of beauty will eaſily appear upon
2
ether wir- refſection. Wherever an object has a ten-
deney to produce pleaſure 1 in the poſſeſſor,
or in other words, is the proper cauſe of
pleaſure, it is ſure to pleaſe the ſpectator,
by a delicate ſympathy with the poſſeſſor.
Moſt of the works of art are eſteem'd beau-
tiful, in proportion to their fitneſs for the
uſe of man, and even many of the pro-
ductions of nature derive their beauty from
that ſource. Handſome and beautiful, on
moſt occaſions, is not an abſolute but a re-
lative quality, and pleaſes us by nothing but
its tendency to produoe an end 1 is
agreeable *. \
Tur fame principle ode in many in-
ſtances, our ſentiments of morals, as well as
thoſe of beauty. No virtue is more eſteem'd
than juſtice, and no vice more deteſted than
injuſtice ; nor are there any qualities, which
go farther' to the fixing the character, either
as amiable or odious. Now juſtice is'a mo-
gp: virtue, 3 becauſe it Jos: fant tendency
DES NP
4 Decentior equas cujus ,aftrifia ſunt ilia ; ſed. dem velocior.
Pulcher aſpectu fit athleta, cujus lacertos exercitatio expreſlit ; |
idem certamini paratior. Nunquam vero _fpecies ab utilitate
er Sed hoc quidem diſcernere, ici judicii eſt,
2uine. lib. 8.
Book III. C/ Morals. | 207
to the good of mankind ; and, indeed, is no- SECT.
thing but an artificial invention to that pur- I.
poſe, The ſame may be aid of allegiance, 57%”?
of the laws of nations, of modeſty, and of 978i of
good-manners. All theſe are mere human 241 gr
contrivances for the intereſt of ſociety., And fone ney "ne i
VICES.
fince there is a * ſtrong — of mo- , ,/ teen. 6? N 0
222 .
attended hi, WE maſt . as — r iy
flecting on the tendency of characters and /3../ we —
mental qualities, is ſufficient to give us the 5... zige
ſentiments of approbation and blame. Now n :. k
as the means to an end can only be agree- . e ge,
able, where the end is agreeable; and as the C a> WM
good of ſociety, where our own intereſt is Agee, and «+4. i
not concern'd, or that of our friends, pleaſes ;,..,,,> ... WM
only by ſympathy : It follows, that ſympa- „, eee,
thy is the ſource of the eſteem, which my
to all the artificial virtues,
Tu us it appears, that ſympathy is a 8
powerful principle in human nature, that it
has a great influence on our taſte of beauty,
and that it produces our ſentiment of morals
in all the artificial virtues. From thence
we may preſume, that it alſo gives riſe to =
many of the other virtues ; and that quali- :
ties acquire our approbation, becauſe of their 1
tendency to the good of mankind. This pre-
nn muſt become a certainty, when we
find
4A Treatif, of Human Nath
Pan find that moſt of thoſs qualities, which we
III. mnatyraily approve of, have actually that ten-
EN ” dengy; and render 4 man a proper member
- of ſociety: While the qualities, which we
zaturally diſapprove of, have a cantrary ten-
dency,. and render any intercourſe with the
perſon dangerous or diſagreeable. For hav-
ing: Found, that fich tendencies have force
„enough to produce the: ſtrongeſt ſentiment
of morals, we can never reaſonably, in theſe
caſes, look for any other cauſe of approba-
tion or blame; it being an inviolable maxim
os 4». > in philoſophy, that where any particular cauſe
is ſufficient for an effect, we ought to reſt
ſatisſied with it, and ought not to multiply
eauſes without neceſſity. We have happily
attain'd experiments in the artificial virtues,
where the tendency of qualities to the good
of ſociety, is the ſo/e cauſe of our approba-
tion, without any ſuſpicion. of the concur-
rence of another principle. From thence we
learn the force of that principle. And where
that principle may take place, and the qua-
ty approv'd of is really beneficial to ſociety, -
a true philoſopher will never require any other
principle to account for the _—_ "_
bation and eſteem.
THAT many of the 10 virtues have
Ane to the good of ſociety, no one
_ 5 fn on on. =, hin. cf -—_ = A ww A FT AY LI ”F an Hs Sa ac. * —_— —_— 2 © . 1 3 * 15
in
the notions of honour and ſhame, This fy-
Book IM. / Moral. 209
can doubt of. Meekneſs, beneficence, cha- T.
1 —— aqui 1
ty, beat the greateſt figure among the moral o 5 ad
qualities, -and are commonly denominated N 2.
the ſocial virtues. to mark their tendency to ,2/ v.
the good of ſociety. This goes fo far, ey” "i
ſome philoſophers have repreſented all moral
diſtinctions as the effect of artifice and edu-
cation, when ſkilfal politicians endeavour d
to reſtrain the turbulent paſſions of mien, and
make them operate to the public good, by
ſtem, however, is not confiſtent with ex-
petience. For, Bk, there are other virtues
4tid vices befide thoſe which have this ten-
dency to the public advantage and loſs. Se-
conttly, had not men a natural ſentiment of
apptobation and blame, it cot d never be ex-
cited by politicians; nor wou'd the words
laudable and praiſe-worthy, blameable and
ofious, be atry more intelligible; than if they
were a language perfectly unknown to us, as
we have already obſerv'd. But tho! this ſy.
ſteny be-erroneons, it may teach us, that mo-
ral diffinRtions arile, in a great meaſure; from
the" tendeney of qualities and characters io
the intereſt} of ſbeiety, and that tis our con-
ect for that intereſt, which makes us ap-
Probs or diſapptoye' of them, © Neo, we
Vor. ä : have
210 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PA x T have no ſuch extenſive concern for ſociety but
III. from ſympathy; and conſequently tis that
8 principle, which takes us ſo far out of our-
—__ ſelves, as to give us the ſame pleaſure or
ies unoeaſineſs in che- characters ; ofothersy as if
. red an they had a tendency to our own advantage
| vey heel >” ˙ of loſs. ;
e Tux only difference betwixt the natural
Ser el, virtues and juſtice lies in this, that the good,
ff
which reſults from the former, ariſes from
every fingle act, and is the object of ſome
natural paſſion : Whereas a ſingle act of
juſtice, conſider d in itſelf, may oſten be
contrary to the public good ; and tis only
the concurrence of mankind, in a general
ſcheme or ſyſtem of action, which is advan-
tageous. When 1 relieve perſons 1 in diſtreſs,
my natural humanity is my motive; and fo
far as my ſuccour extends, ſo far have I
promoted the happineſs of my fellow-crea-
tures. | But if we examine all the queſtions,
that come before any tribunal of juſtice, we
ſhall find, that, conſidering each caſe apart,
it wou'd as often be an inſtance of humanity
to decide contrary to the laws of juſtice as
conformable them. Judges take from a poor
man to give to a rich; they beſtow on the
diſſolute the labour of the induffrious; and
put ig le hand- af the wicious the meant
A 111 of
nr 5 252
liſh'd it. After it is once eſtabliſh'd by ,
Book III. 07 Morals. © 211
of harming both themſelves and others. SECT.
The whole ſcheme, however, of law and I. 9
juſtice is advantageous to the ſociety,z and Of the > RY x
'twas with a view to this advantage, that origis of
the naty. -
men, by their voluntary conventions, eſtab- ral wir
£23 I 84%0\
theſe conventions, it is naturally attended -
with a ſtrong ſentiment of morals ; which
can proceed from nothing but our ſympathy
with the intereſts of ſociety. We need no
other explication of that eſteem, which at-
tends ſuch of the natural virtues, as have a
tendency to the public good.
I MusT farther add, that there are ſeveral
circumſtances, which render this hypotheſis
much more probable with regard to the
natural than the artificial virtues. *Tis cer-
tain, that the imagination is more affected
by what is particular, than by what is gene-
ral; and that the ſentiments are always
moy'd with difficulty, where their objects
are, in any degree, looſe and undetermin d:
Now every particular act of juſtice is not
beneficial to ſociety, but the whole ſcheme
or ſyſtem: And it may not, perhaps, be
any individual perſon, for whom we are
concern'd, who receives benefit from juſtice,
but the whole ſociety alike. On the con-
trary, every particular a& of generoſity, or
BE of reli
C
—
212
A Treatiſe of bee Mature.
Pax x relief of the induſtrious and indigent, is
1 * beneficial ; and is beneficial to a particular
: Oo
oc
% *
ww
SY % +%
* ns. > Or te © perſon, who is not undeſerving of it. Tis
other wir- more natural, therefore, to think, that the
tue,
vices.
_ circumſtances, which facilitate the operation
of that cauſe,
tendencies of the latter virtue will affect our
ſentiments, and command our approbation,
than thoſe of the former ; and therefore,
fince we find, that the approbation of the
former ariſes from their tendencies, we may
aſcribe, with better reaſon, the fame cauſe
to the approbation of the latter, In any
number of ſimilar effects, if a cauſe can be
diſcover'd for one, we ought to extend that
cauſe to all the other effects, which can be
accounted for by it: But much more, if
theſe other effects be attended with peculiar
Berore I proceed farther, I muſt ob-
ſerve two remarkable circumſtances in this
affair, which may ſeem objections to the
preſent ſyſtem. The firſt may be thus ex-
plain d. When any quality, or character,
ee to the good of mankind, we
eas d with it, and approve of it; be-
hah it preſents the lively idea of pleaſure;
which idea affects us by ſympathy, and is
ſelf a kind of pleaſure, But as this ſym-
pathy is very Wahl it may be thought,
that
-
1 wa com ” SE Pn Ta TT" ey =” a= wa V%J7#@© © ©
r e ad | aan" an . W an a. ethane
rr. e et Eo DER
Book III. Of Moral. 22g
that our ſentiments of morals muſt admit of 8 B C T.
all the ſame variations. We ſympathize more I.
with perſons contiguous to us, than with 5 te ©
remote from us: With our acquaint- _
ance, than with ſtrangers: With our coun- ra! vir-
trymen,- than-with foreigners. But notwith- .
ſtanding this variation of our ſympathy, we
give the ſame approbation to the ſame moral
qualities in China as in England, They
appear equally virtuous, and recommend
themſelves equally to the eſteem of a judi-
cious ſpectator. The ſympathy varies with-
out a variation in our eſteem, Our eſteem,
therefore, proceeds not from ſympathy.
To this I anſwer: The approbation of
moral qualities moſt certainly is not deriv'd -
from reaſon, or any compariſon of ideas;
but proceeds entirely from a moral taſte, and
from certain ſentiments of pleaſure or diſ-
guſt, which ariſe upon the contemplation
and view of particular qualities or characters.
Now tis evident, that thoſe ſentiments,
whence-ever they are deriv d, muſt vary
according to the diſtance or contiguity of
the objects; nor can I feel the fame lively
pleaſure from the virtues of a perſon, who
livd in Greece two thouſand years ago, that
I feel from the virtues of a familiar friend
and acquaintance, Yet I do not ſay, that I
8 P 3 eſteem
wices. 1
Of tbe
tures and
Vices.
* Ceſc
A Treatiſe of Human I, ature.
PAR r eſteem the one more than the other: And
HI. therefore, if the variation 'of the ſentiment,
2
without a variation of the eſteem, be an
other vir. Objection, it muſt have equal force againſt
every other ſyſtem, as againſt that of ſym-
pathy. But to conſider the, mates a- right,
it has no force at all; and 'tis the eaſieſt
matter-in the world to account for it. Our
ſituation, . with regard both to perſons and
things, . is in continual fluctuation ; and a
man, that lies at a diſtance from us, may,
in a little time, become a familiar acquaint-
ance. Beſides, every particular man has a
peculiar poſition with regard to others ; and
tis impoſſible we cou'd ever converſe toge-
ther on any reaſonable terms, were each of
us to conſider characters and perſons, only as
they appear from his peculiar point of view.
In -order, therefore, to prevent thoſe con-
tinual contradictions, and arrive at a more
ſtable judgment of things, we fix on" ſome
Heady and general points of view; and al-
ways, in our thoughts, place ourſelves in
them, whatever may be our preſent ſituation.
In like manner, external beauty is deter-
min'd merely by pleaſure ; and tis evident,
a beautiful countenance cannot give ſo much
pleaſure, when ſeen at the diſtance of twenty
| paces, as when it is brought nearer us, We
wy
Book INI. Of Morals. .
ſay not, however, that it appears to us leſs 8 EG T.
beautiful : Becauſe we know what effect it I.
, will have in ſuch a poſition, | and by that Of the ©
} reflection we correct its momentary ap- 44
CC. ral vir-
f Ix general, all ſentiments of blame or ,
˖ praiſe are variable, according to our ſitua-
A tion of nearneſs or remoteneſs, with regard
TE to the perſon blam'd or prais d, and accord-
R ing to the preſent diſpoſition of our mind.
. But theſe variations we regard not in our ge-
2 neral deciſions, but ſtill apply the terms
A; expreſſive of our liking or diſlike, in the
d ſame manner, as if we remain'd in one
L point of view. Experience ſoon teaches us
R this method of correcting our ſentiments, or
1 at leaſt, of correcting our language, where the
, ſentiments are more ſtubborn and inalterable,
C Our ſervant, if diligent and faithful, may
. excite ſtronger ſentiments of love and kind-
e neſs than Marcus Brutus, as repreſented in
K hiſtory ; but we ſay not upon that ac-
n count, that the former character is more
* laudable than the latter. We know, that
% were we to approach equally near to that
t renown'd patriot, he wou d command a much
þ higher degree of affection and admiration.
y Buch corrections are common with regard to
'E al W ſenſes ; and indeed twere impoſſible
1 MY we
A Treatiſe of Human Nature. +
CITE: we cou'd ever make uſe of language, or
communicate our ſentiments to ane another,
of the did we not correct the momentary appear-
- ances of things, and overlook our preſent
ſituation,
Tris therefore from the influence of cha-
racers and qualities, upon thoſe who have
an intercourſe with any perſon, that we
blame or praiſe him. We conſider not
whether the perſons, affected by: the qualities,
be our acquaintance or ſtrangers, country-
men or foreigners. Nay, we over- look our
own intereſt in thoſe general judgments ; and
blame not a man for oppoſing us in any of
our pretenſions, when his own intereſt is
particularly concern'd, We make allowance
for a certain degree of ſelfiſhneſs in men;
| becauſe we know it to be. inſeparable from
human nature, and inherent in our frame
and conſtitution. By this reflection we cor-
rect thoſe ſentiments of blame, which fo
naturally ariſe upon any oppoſition.
Bur however the general principle of
our blame or praiſe may be corrected by
thoſe other principles, tis certain, they are
not altogether efficacious, nor do our paf-
fions often correſpond entirely to the preſent
theory. 'Tis ſeldom men heartily love what
Hes at a diſtgnce from them, and what no
way
Bock III. 07 Moral.. * 217
way redounds to their particular benefit ; 8 Te |
'tis no leſs rare to meet with perſons, who
can pardon another any oppoſition he makes 1
to their intereſt, however juſtifiable that op- origin of
poſition may be by the general rules of mo- ra! vir.
_ rality. Here we are contented with ſaying, 8
that reaſon requires ſuch an impartial con-
duct, but that tis ſeldom we can bring our-
ſelves to it, and that our paſſions do not
readily follow the determination of our judg-
ment. This language will be eaſily under-
ſtood, if we conſider what we formerly ſaid
concerning that reaſon, which is able to op-
poſe our paſſion; and which we have found
to be nothing but a general calm determina-
tion of the paſſions, founded on ſome diſtant
view or reflection. When we form our
judgments of perſons, merely from the ten-
dency of their characters to our own bene-
fit, or to that of our friends, we find o
many contradictions to our ſentiments in
ſociety and converſation, and ſuch an uncer-
tainty from the inceſſant changes of our ſitu-
ation, that we ſeek ſome other ſtandard of
merit and demerit, which may not admit of
ſo great variation, Being thus looſen d from
our firſt ſtation, we cannot afterwards fix
ourſelyes ſo commodiouſly by any means as
by a * with thoſe, who have any
COMMITTED |
9 — 9 „ * 2
218
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PA x r commerce with the perſon we conſider. This
III.
Of the
is far from being as lively as when our own
intereſt is concern'd, or that of our parti-
ether vir- cular friends; nor has it ſuch an influence
tues and
viget.
on our love and hatred: But being equally
conformable to our calm and general princi-
ples, tis ſaid to have an equal authority over
our reaſon, and to command our judgment
and opinion, We blame equally a bad
action, which we read of in hiſtory, with
one perform'd in our neighbourhood t'other
day: The meaning of which is, that we
know from reflection, that the former action
wou'd excite as ſtrong ſentiments of diſap-
probation as the latter, were it plac'd in the
ſame poſition.
I now proceed to the fecond remarkable
circumſtance, which I propos'd to take no-
tice of. Where a perſon is poſſeſs'd of a
character, that in its natural tendency is
beneficial to ſociety, we eſteem him virtuous,
and are delighted with the view of his cha-
rater, even tho particular accidents prevent
its operation, and incapacitate him from be-
ing ſerviceable to his friends and country.
Virtue in rags is ſtill virtue; and the love,
which it procures, attends a man into a
dungeon or deſart, where the virtue can no
n be exerted in action, and is loſt to
all
_ Book III. Of Moral. © 219
all the world. Now this may be eſteem'd 8 x - 4
an objection to the preſent ſyſtem. Sympa-
thy intereſts us in the good of ——
and if ſympathy were the ſource of our 2 ef
eſteem for virtue, that ſentiment of appro- % Aw
bation cou'd only take place, where the 4
virtue actually attain'd its end, and was bene-
ficial to mankind, Where it fails of its
end, tis only an imperfect means; and there-
fore can never acquire any merit from that
end, The goodneſs of an end can beſtow
a merit on ſuch means alone as are com-
| pleat, and actually produce the end.
To this we may reply, that where any
object, in all its parts, is fitted to attain any
agrecable end, it naturally gives us pleaſure,
and is eſteem'd beautiful, even tho' ſome ex-
ternal circumſtances be wanting to render it
altogether effeCtual, Tis ſufficient if every
thing be compleat in the object itſelf, A
houſe, that is contriv'd with great judgment
for all the commodities of life, pleaſes us
upon that account; tho perhaps we are ſen-
ſible, that no- one will ever dwell in it. A
fertile ſoil, and a happy climate, delight us
by a reflection on the happineſs which they
wou'd afford the inhabitants, tho at preſent
ö the country be deſart and uninhabited. A
man, whoſe limbs and ſhape promiſe ſtrength
and
2 20
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
Pax and abtivity, is ofteem'd handſome, tho
III.
.
Of the
tues and
VICES.
condemn'd to perpetual impriſonment. The
imagination has a ſet of paſſions belonging
ether wir to it, upon which our ſentiments of beauty
much depend. Theſe paſſions are mov'd by
— of livelineſs and ſtrength, which are
inferior to Belief, and independent of the real
exiſtence of their objects. Where a character
is, in every reſpect, fitted to be beneficial to
ſociety, the imagination paſſes eaſily from
the cauſe to the effect, without confidering
that there are ſtill ſome circumſtances want-
ing to. render the cauſe a compleat one
General rules create a f pecies of ovitabiey,
which ſometimes influences the judgment,
and always the imagination.
"Tis true, when the cauſe is compleat,
and a good diſpoſition is attended with good
fortune, which renders it really beneficial to
ſociety, it gives a ſtronger pleaſure to the
ſpectator, and is attended with a more lively
ſympathy. We are more affected by it;
and yet we do not fay that it is more vir-
tuous, or that we eſteem it more. We
know, that an alteration of fortune may
render the benevolent diſpoſition entirely im-
potent ; and therefore we ſeparate, as much
as poſſible, the fortune from the diſpoſition.
The caſe is the .fame, as when we correct
| the
Book III. Of Morah. N 221
the different ſentiments of virtue, which pro- SECT.
ceed from its different diſtances from out- I.
ſelves. The paſſions do not always follow &
our corrections z but theſe corrections ' ſerve __ 2.
ſufficiently to regulate our abſtract notions, ra! vir
and are alone regarded, when we pronounce _—
in general concerning the _ of vice
and virtue.
\ "Tis obſerv'd by critins, that all "ork
or ſentences, which are difficult to the pro-
nunciation, are diſagreeable to the ear. There
is no difference, whether a man hear them
pronounc d, or read them ſilently to himſelf.
When I run over a book with my eye, I
imagine I hear it all; and alſo, by the force
of imagination, enter into the uneaſineſs,
which the delivery of it wou'd give the
ſpeaker. The uneaſineſs is not real; but
as ſuch a compoſition of words has a natu-
ral tendency to produce it, this is ſufficient
to affect the mind with a painful ſentiment, LE
and render the diſesurſe· harſh and diſagree” - |
able. 'Tis a fimilar caſe, where any real
quality is, by accidental circumſtances, ren»
der'd impotent, and is We of its natum
influence on Jociety. .
Urox theſe principles we miy eafily re-
move any contradiction, which may appear
to be betwixt the extenfive fympathy, on
1 | which
7 222 A Treatiſe 17 Human Nature.
Pa RT Which our ſentiments of virtue depend, FR
III. that limited generofifty which I have fre-
of th quently obſervd to be natural to men, and
ether vir- which juſtice and property ſuppoſe, accord-
jr a ing to the precedent reaſoning. My ſym-
ES pathy -with another may give me the ſen-
timent of pain and diſapprobation, when
any object is preſented, "a has a tendency
to give him uneaſineſs; tho' I may not be
willing to ſacrifice any thing of my own in-
tereſt, or croſs any of my paſſions, for his
ſatisfaction. A houſe may diſpleaſe me by
being ill-contriv'd for the convenience of the
owner; and yet I may refuſe to give a ſhil-
ling towards the rebuilding of it. Senti-
ments muſt touch the heart, to make them
DTccontroul our paſſions: But they need not
extend beyond the imagination, to make
them influence our taſte, When a building
ſeems clumſy and tottering to the eye, it is
ugly and diſagreeable; tho we be fully
affur'd of the ſolidity of the workmanſhip.
Tis a kind of fear, which cauſes this ſen-
timent of diſapprobation; but the paſſion is
not the ſame with that which we feel, when
oblig d to ſtand under a wall, that we
really think tottering and . inſecure, - The
ſeeming tendencies of objects affect the mind:
And the emotions wy excite are of a like
5 50 | ſpecies
Bock III. / Moral. 223
ſpecies with an which proceed from the 8 ECT.
real cunſeguences of objects, but their feeling 1.
is different. Nay, theſe emotions are ſo dif- Of „.
ferent in their feeling, that they may often 97" 9 -
be contrary, without deſtroying each other ; et joy
as when the fortifications of a city belonging .
to an enemy are efteem'd beautiful upon ac-
count of their: ſtrength, tho we cou'd _
that they were entirely deſtroy'd.
imagination adheres to the; general. views' he
things, and diſtinguiſhes, the feelings they . belcoinf
produce, from- thoſe which ariſe from our
particular and WORRY: nee | 29360
r we examine whe! enemies that as
| Ae made of great men, we ſhall
find; that moſt of the qualities, which are
attributed to them, may be divided into two
kinds, viz, ſuch as make them perform their
part in ſociety; and ſuch as render them
ſerviceable to themſelves, and enable them
to promote their on intereſt: Their pru-
dence, Femperance, Frugality,. mduſtry, offi
duity, enterprize, dexterity,” are celebrated,
as well as their-generofity and humanity. If
we ever give an indulgence to any quality,
that diſables a man flom making a figure in
Fife, tis to that of indolence, which is not
ee to deptive one of his parts and ca-
Pacity,
=
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224
A 1 Treatifa of Hitman Waturto'i
PART pacity, but only ſuſpends their exerciſe; and
W
4
992
that without any inconvenience to the per-
don himſelf, ſince tis, in ſome meaſure;
ag from his own choice. Yet'indolence is al-
tues and
vices.
ways allow d to be a fault, and a very great
one, if extreme: Nor do a man's friends
ever acknowledge him to be ſubject to it;
but in order to fave his character in more
material articles. He cou'd make a figure,
ſay they, if he pleas d to gite application:
His underſtanding, is ſoundz his conception
quick, and his memory tenacious; but he
hates bu ſineſs, and is indifferent abouy bis
fortune. And this a man ſometimes may
make even a ſubject of vanity; tho with
the air of confeſſing àc fault: Becauſe he
may chink, that this: incapacity for buſineſs
implies much; more noble qualities; ſuch: as
a philolophiealſpirit, a fine taſte, a delicate
wit; or g, xeliſh for pleaſure and ſociety. But
take any other caſe: Suppoſe a quality, that
without heing an indication of any other
good qualities, incapacitates a man gkvays
for buſineſs, and is deſtructive to bis intereſt;
ſuch, as a blundering underſtanding. and a
wrong judgment of every thing in life; in-
conſtancy and itreſolution a or A want of
addreſs in the management of men and buſi-
welt _ art all allow d ta be ibipertec-
=—_ —
.
ama award oo as Load
. |
Book II. Of. Morals 225.
tions in a eharacter; and many men wou'd SECT.
rather acknowledge the greateſt crimes, than I.
have it ſuſpeRed, that they are, in any de. Of the
gree, ſubje& to them. N
*T1s very happy, in our rhiloſophical re- ral vir
ſearches, when we find the ſame phænome- _—
non diverſified by a variety of circumſtances;
and by diſcovering what is common among
them, can the better aſſure ourſelves of the
truth of any hypotheſis we may make uſe 1
of to explain, it: Were nothing eſteem'd - 5 |
virtue but what were. beneficial to ſociety, / ππ ]
am perſuaded, that the foregoing explication
of the moral ſenſe ought Kill to be receiv'd,
and that upon ſufficient evidence: But this
evidence muſt grow upon us, when we. find
other kinds of virtue, which will not ad-
mit of any explication except from that
hypotheſis. Here is a man, who is not re-
markably defective in his ſocial qualities;
but what principally recommends him is
his dexterity in buſineſe, by which he has
extricated himſelf from the greateſt difficul-
ties, and conducted the moſt delicate affairs
with a ſingular addreſs and prudence, I
find an eſteem for him immediately to ariſe
in me: His company is a ſatisfaction to me;
and before I have any farther acquaintance
with him, I wou'd rather do him a ſervice
Vor. III. 6 than
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A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART. than another, whoſe character is in every
III.
other reſpect equal, but is deficient in that
Oh particular: In this caſe, the qualities that
ober * pleaſe me are all conſider'd as uſeful to the
Tue and
VICES.
perſon, and as having a tendency to pro-
mote his intereſt and ſatisfaction. They are
only regarded as means to an end, and pleaſe
me in proportion to their fitneſs for that
end. The end, therefore, muſt be agree-
able to me, But what makes the end agree-
able ? The perſon is a ſtranger; I am no
way intereſted in him, nor lie under any
obligation to him ; His happineſs concerns
not me, farther than the happineſs of every
human, and indeed of every ſenſible crea.
ture: That is, it affects me only by ſym-
pathy. From that principle, whenever I
diſcover his happineſs and good, whether in
its cauſes or effects, I enter ſo deeply into
it, that it gives me a ſenſible emotion. The
appearance of qualities, that have a tendency
to promote. it, have an agreeable effect upon
my imagination, and command * love and
eſteem.
Tr1s theory may ſerve to de why
the ſame qualities, in all caſes, produce
both pride and love, humility and hatred;
and the ſame man is always virtuous or
vicious, accompliſh'd or deſpicable to nn
Book III. C/ Morals. ä
who is ſo to himſelf. A perſon, in whom SzCT,
we diſcoyer any paſſion or habit, which ori- I.
ginally is only incommodious to himſelf, be- 5; 5, Of the
comes always diſagrecable to us, merely on 2
natx-
its account; as on the other hand, one 7a! vir-
whoſe character is only dangerous and diſ- *
agreeable to others, can never be fatisfied
with himſelf, as long as he is ſenſible of
that diſadvantage. Nor is this obſervable
only with regard .to characters and manners,
but may be remark'd even in the moſt mi-
nute circumſtances. A violent cough in
another gives us uneaſineſs; tho in itſelf it
does not in the leaſt affect us. A man will
be mortified, if you tell him he has a ſtink-
ing breath; tho 'tis evidently no annoyance.
to himſelf, Our fancy eaſily changes its
ſituation; and either ſurveying ourſelves as
we appear to others, or conſidering others as 3
they feel themſelves, , wer enter, by that 51a a cio
means, into ſentiments, which no way be-
long to us, and in which nothing but ſym-
pathy is able to intereſt us. And this ſym-
pathy we ſometimes carry ſo far, as even to
be diſpleas d with a quality cortmbdious to Te
us, merely becauſe it diſpleaſes others, and, 2 -< 57
3 makes us diſagreeable in their eyes; tho
Ir perhaps we never can have any intereſt in
8, rendering ourſelves agreeable to them. .
0 Q 2 THERE
1 9
228
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART THERE have been many ſyſtems of mo-
III. rality advanc'd by philoſophers in all ages;
| Of th but if they are ſtrictly examin'd, they may
other vir- be reduc'd to two, which 8 merit our
tues an
VICES.
115
2
attention. Moral good and evil are certainly
diſtinguiſh'd by our ſentiments, not by rea-
ſon: But theſe ſentiments may ariſe either
from the mere ſpecies or appearance of cha-
raters and paſſions, or from reflections on
their tendency to the happineſs of mankind,
and of particular perſons. My opinion is,
that both theſe cauſes are intermix'd in our
judgments of morals ; after the ſame manner
as they are in our deciſions concerning moſt
kinds of external beauty: Tho' I am alſo of
opinion, that reflections on the tendencies
of actions have by far the greateſt influence,
and determine all the great lines of our duty.
There are, however, inſtances, in caſes of
leſs moment, wherein this immediate taſte
or ſentiment produces our approbation. Wit,
and a certain eaſy and diſengag'd behaviour,
are qualities immediately agreeable to others,
and command their love and eſteem. Some
of theſe qualities produce ſatisfaction in
others by particular original principles of
human nature, which cannot be accounted
1
for: Others may be reſolv d into principles,
which
Book III. Of Moral. 229
which are more general. This will beſt ap. SECT,
pear upon a particular enquiry. ( I.
As ſome qualities acquire their merit from o Yo 5
their being immediately agreeable to others, * cu.£h
without any tendency to public intereſt; ſo „ pa
ſome are denominated virtuous from their = aan
being immediately agreeable to the perſon -
himſelf, who poſſeſſes them. Each of the
paſſions and .operations of the mind has a
particular feeling, which muſt be either
agreeable or diſagreeable. The firſt is vir-
tuous, the ſecond vicious. This particular
feeling conſtitutes the very nature of the
paſſion ; and therefore needs not be account-
ed for.
Bor however directly the diſtinction of
vice and virtue may ſeem to flow from the
immediate pleaſure or uneaſineſs, which par-
ticular qualities cauſe to ourſelves or others; |
'tis eaſy to obſerve, that it has alſo a con-
ſiderable dependence. on the principle of m-
pathy ſo often inſiſted on. We approve of
a a perſon, who is poſſeſs d of qualities im-
mediately agreeable to thoſe, with whom he
has any commerce; tho perhaps we Our-
ſelves never reap'd any pleafure from them,
We alſo approve of one, who is poſſeſs do
of qualities, that are immediately agreeable
to himſelf; tho' they be of no ſervice to
Q 3 any
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A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART any mortal. To account for this we myſt
III. have recourſe to the foregoing principles
>"
Of the
Tuus, to take a general review of the
— F hypotheſis: Every quality of the
—
mind is denominated virtuous, which gives
pleaſure by the mere ſurvey; as every quality,
which produces pain, is call'd vicious. This
pleaſure and this pain may ariſe from four
different ſources. For we reap. a pleaſure |
from the view. of a character, which is na-
turally fitted to be uſeful to others, or to the
perſon himſelf, or which is agreeable to
others, or to the perſon himſelf. . One may,
perhaps, be ſurpriz d, that amidſt all theſe
| Intereſts and pleaſures, we ſhou'd forget our
own, which touchgþ us: ſo nearly on every
other occaſion. But we ſhall eaſily ſatisfy
ourſelves on this head, when we conſider,
that every particular perſon's pleaſure and in-
tereſt - being different, tis impoſſible men
cou'd ever agree in their ſentiments and
judgments, unleſs they choſe ſome common
point of view, from which they might
ſurvey their object, and which might cauſe
it to appear the fame to all of them. Now
in judging of characters, the only intereſt
anch pleaſure, which appears the ſame to
every ſpectator, is that of the perſon him-
ſelf, whoſe. character is eramin d; or that
2 | of
Book III. Of Moral. 2231
of Ae who have a connexion with 8 E Gr.
And tho ſuch intereſts and pleaſures I.
_ us more faintly than our own, yet F |
being more conſtant and univerſal, they W
counter-ballance the latter even in practice, ral vir-
and are alone admitted in ſpeculation as the 5, *
ſtandard of virtue and morality, They alone
produce that particular feeling or ſentiment;
on which moral diſtinctions depend.
As to the good or ill deſert of virtue or
vice, tis an evident conſequence of the ſen-
timents of pleaſure or uneaſineſs. Theſe
ſentiments produce love or hatred ; and love
or hatred, by the original ee
human paſſion, is attended with benevolence
or anger; that is, with a deſire of making
happy the perſon we love, and miſerable the
perſon we hate. We have treated of this
more fully on another occaſion.
SECT. 1
of greatneſs of mind.
iT may now be proper to illuſtrate this 8 EC r.
general ſyſtem of morals, by applying II.
it to particular inſtances of virtue and vice,
and i how their merit or demerit
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4 E REE ͤ·ðͥu q or A, OT TT IR US er a 4 2 2
PART
III.
—
Of the ©
other vir-
fues and
vicer.
A Treatife of Human Mature.
ariſes from the four ſources here .explain'd,
We ſhall begin with examining the paſſions
of pride and humility, and ſhall confider the
vice or virtue that lies in their exceſſes or
juſt proportion. An exceflive pride or over-
weaning conceit of ourſelves is always e-
teem's vicious, and is univerſally hated ; as
modeſty, or a juſt ſenſe of our weakneſs, is
eſteem'd virtuous, and procures the good-
will of every-one, Of the four ſources of
moral diſtinctions, this is to be aſcrib'd to
the third; via. the immediate agreeableneſs
and diſagreeableneſs of a quality to others,
without any reflections on the tendency of
that quality.
In order to prove this, we muſt have re-
_ courſe to two principles, which are very con-
ſpicuous in human nature. The firſt of
ſentiments and paſſions above-mention'd. So
cloſe and intime :: is the correſpondence of
theſe is the /ympathy, and communication of
human ſouls, that no ſooner any perſon ap-
proaches. me, than he diffuſes on mie all his
opinions, and draws along my judgment in
a greater or leſſer degree. And tho, on
many occafions, my ſympathy with him
goes not ſo far as entirely to change my ſen-
timents, and way of thinking; yet it ſeldom
is ſo weak as not to diſturb the eaſy courſe
N
233
of my Sah, and give an 8 to 8 r.
that opinion, which is recommended to me 3
by his aſſent and approbation. Nor is it any 7 geen
way material upon what ſubject he and 1
employ our thoughts. Whether we Ny ——
of an indifferent perſon, or of my own cha-
rater, my ſympathy gives equal force to his
decifion : And even his ſentiments of his
own merit make me confider him in the
fame light, in which he regards himſelf.
Tr1s principle of ſympathy is of ſo
powerful and- infinuating a nature, that it
enters into moſt of our ſentiments and paſ-
fions, and often takes place under the ap-
pearance of its contrary. For tis remark-
able, that when a perſon oppoſes me in any li
thing, which I am ſtrongly bent upon, and
rouzes up my paſſion by contradiction, I
have always a degree of ſympathy with him,
nor does my commotion proceed from any
other origin. We may here obſerve an evi-
dent conflict or rencounter of oppoſite prin-
ciples and paſſions. On the one fide there is
that paſſion or ſentiment,” which is natural
to me; and tis obſervable, that the ſtronger
this paſſion is, the greater is the commotion.
There muſt alſo be ſome paſſion or ſenti-
ment on the other fide ; and this
Res from nothing but ſympathy. The
ſentiments
can
FFP
234 A Treatiſe of a Mature.
PAR x ſentiments of others can never affect us, but
III. by becoming, in ſome meaſure, our own;
in Which caſe they operate upon us, by op-
perro pofing and encreaſing our paſſions, in the
vices. very ſame manner, as if they had been ori-
ginally derivd from our own temper and
diſpoſition, | While they remain conceal'd in
the minds of others, they can/ never have
any influence upon us: And even when they
are known, if they went no farther than the
imagination, or conception ; that faculty is
ſo accuſtom d to objects of every different
kind, that a mere idea, tho contrary to our
ſentiments and inclinations, nn never
alone be able to affect us.
Tux ſcond principle J ſhall ack notice
of is that of compariſon, or the variation - of
our judgments concerning objects, according
to the proportion they bear to thoſe with
which we compare them. We judge more
of objects by compariſon, than by their in-
trinfic worth and value; and regard every
thing as mean, when ſet in oppoſition to
What is ſupetior of the ſame kind. But no
compariſon is more obvious than that with
ourſelves; and hence it is that on all occa-
ſions it takes place, and mixes with moſt of
our paſſions. This kind of compariſon is
mn contrary to ſympathy in its ny
tion,
%
0
Book III. Of Moral. r 235
tion, as we have obſerwd in treating of SECT.
compaſſion and malice. In all kinds of cum II.
pariſon an object makes us always receive &
from another, to which it is compar d, a 2
ſenſation contrary to what arijes from itſelf
in its direct and immediate ſurvey. The
direct ſurvey of another's pleaſure naturally
gives us pleaſure ; and therefore produces pain,
when compar d with our own. His pain, con-
ſider d in itſelf, is painful; but augments the
idea of our own bappineſi, and gives us plea-
ſure.
SINCE then thoſe principles of ſympathy,
and a compariſon with ourſelves, are directly
contrary, it may be. worth while to conſider,
what general rules can be form'd, beſide the
particular temper of the perſon, for the pre-
valence of the one or the other. Suppoſe I
am now in fafety at land, and wou'd wil-
lingly reap ſome pleaſure from this conſider-
ation: I muſt think on the miſerable con-
dition of thoſe who are at ſea in a ſtorm,
| and muſt endeavour to. render this idea as
ſtrong and lively as poſſible, in order to
PO RS SPEC I rr... oo oh,
make me more ſen ſible of my own happi-
neſs, But whatever pains I may take,. the th g 5
J compariſon will never have an equal efficacy, I 1
h | | | as
| * Book II. Part II. Seck. VIII.
r . oo 4 3 2
8 > 36 A Treatiſe of Human WV, athre.
PAR x as if I were really on * the ſhore, and faw
III. a ſhip at a diſtance, toſt by a tempeſt, and
MA Ved
of the in danger every moment of periſhing on a
other vir- rock or ſand-bank. But ſuppoſe this idea
tues and
VICES.
to become ſtill more lively. Suppoſe the
ſhip to be driven ſo near me, that I can per-
ceive diſtinctly the horror, painted on the
countenance of the ſeamen and paſſengers,
hear their lamentable cries, ſee the deareſt
friends give their laſt adieu, or embrace
with a reſolution to periſh in each others
arms: No man has ſo ſavage a heart as to
reap any pleaſure from ſuch a ſpectacle, or
withſtand the motions of the tendereſt com-
paſſion and ſympathy. Tis evident, there-
fore, there is a medium in this caſe; and
that if the idea be too feint, it has no in-
fluence by compariſon; and on the other
hand, if it be too ſtrong, it operates on us
entirely by ſympathy, which is the contrary
to compariſon. Sympathy being the con-
verſion of an idea into an impreſſion, de-
mands a greater force and vivacity in the
idea than is requiſite to compariſon.
Alx this is eaſily applied to the preſent
ſubject. We fink very much in our own
I eyes,
© b Suave mari magno turbantibus zquora ventis
E terra magnum alterius ſpectare laborem ;
Non quia vexari quenquam eſt jucunda voluptas,
Sed quibus ipſe malis careas quia cernere ſuay' eſt. Lucret.
Book III. Of Moral. 237
eyes, when in the preſence of a great man, S ECT.
or one of a ſuperior genius; and this humi- II.
lity mak«s a conſiderable ingredient i in that oo
reſpect, which we pay our ſuperiors, accord- mee of
ing to our © foregoing reaſonings on chat
paſſion. Sometimes even envy and hatred
ariſe from the compariſon; but in the
greateſt part of men, it reſts at reſpect and
eſteem. As ſympathy has ſuch a powerful
influence on the human mind, it cauſes pride
to have, in ſome meaſure, the ſame effect as
merit; and by making us enter into thoſe
elevated ſentiments, which the proud man
entertains of himſelf, preſents that com-
pariſon, which is ſo mortifying and diſagree-
able. Our judgment does not entirely ac-
company him in the flattering conceit, in
which he pleaſes himſelf; but ſtill is ſo
ſhaken as to receive the idea it preſents, and
to give it an influence above the looſe con-
ceptions of the imagination. A man, who,
in an idle humour, wou'd form a notion of
a perſon of a merit very much ſuperior to
his own, wou'd not be mortified by that
fiction: But when a man, whom we are
really perſuaded to be of inferior merit, is
preſented to us; if we obſerve in him any
extraordinary degree of pride and {eli-conceit; ;
the
1 uo = "TDD = 6 £ ö e rr 8 — — yours e
. —— "= A” "LS P OR 6
| © Book IT, Part 11. Se. x.
238
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART the firm perſuaſion he has of his own merit,
III.
Of the
takes hold of the imagination, and dimi-
niſhes us in our own eyes, in the fame man-
other wir- ner, as if he were really poſſeſs d of all the
Fues a
Vices.
good qualities which he ſo liberally attributes
to himſelf. Our idea is here preciſely in
that medium, which is requiſite to make it
operate on us by compariſon, Were it ac-
companied with belief, and did the perſon
appear to have the ſame merit, which he
aſſumes to himſelf, it wou'd have a contrary
effect, and wou'd operate on us by ſympathy.
The influence of that principle wou'd then
be ſuperior to that of compariſon, contrary
to what happens where the perſon” $/ merit
ſeems below his pretenſions.
THz neceſſary conſequence of theſe prin-
ciples is, that pride, or an over-weaning
conceit of ourſelves, muſt be vicious ; fince
it cauſes uneaſineſs in all men, and preſents
them every moment with a diſagrecable com-
pariſon. Tis a trite obſervation in philo-
ſophy, and even in common life and con-
verſation, that tis our own pride, which
makes us ſo much diſpleas d with the pride
of other people ; and that vanity becomes
inſupportable to us merely becauſe we are
vain, The gay naturally affociate themſelves
with the gay, 2. the amorous with the
amorous:
amorous: But the proud never can endure SECT.
the proud, and rather ſeek the company of II.
thoſe who are of an oppoſite diſpoſition. As 0f greae-
we are, all of us, proud in ſome degree, % #7
pride js univerſally. blam'd and candemn'd
by all mankind; as having a natural ten- |
dency to cauſe uneaſineſs in others by means
of compariſon. And this effect muſt fol-
low the more naturally, that thoſe, who
have an ill-grounded conceit of themſelves,
are for ever making thoſe compariſons, nor
have they any other method of ſupporting
| their vanity. A man of ſenſe and- merit is
pleas'd with himſelf, independent of all
foreign conſiderations : But a fool muſt al-
ways find ſome perſon, that is more fooliſh,
in order to keep himſelf in good humour
with his own parts and underſtanding.
Md
ew. A Af wenn. WW. eas af et. of ak ied wat
*
Bur tho an over-weaning conceit of our
own merit be vicious and diſagreeable, no-
thing can be more laudable, than to have a
value for ourſelves, where we really have
aualities that are valuable. The utility and
advantage of any quality to ourſelves is a
ſource of virtue, as well as its agreeableneſs
to others; and 'tis certain, that nothing is
more uſeful to us in the conduct of life,
5 than a due degree of pride, which makes
us
240
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
Pax r us ſenſible of our own merit, and gives us
III.
of th
other vir-
tues and
vices.
a confidence and aſſurance in all our pro-
jects and enterprizes. Whatever capacity
any one may be endow'd with, tis entirely
uſeleſs to him, if he be not acquainted with
it, and form not deſigns ſuitable to it. Tis
requiſite on all occaſions to know our own
force; and were it allowable to err on either
fide, twou'd be more advantageous to over-
rate our merit, than to form ideas of it,
below its juſt ſtandard, ' Fortune commonly
favours the bold and enterprizing ; and no-
thing inſpires us with more boldneſs than a
good opinion of ourſelves. _
App to this, that tho' pride, or ell. ap-
plauſe, be ſometimes diſagreeable to others,
'tis always agreeable to ourſelves; as on the
other hand, modeſty, tho it give pleaſure to
every one, who obſerves it, produces often
uneaſineſs in the perſon endow'd with it.
Now it has been obſeryd, that our own
ſenſations determine the vice and virtue of
any quality, as well as thoſe. —_
which it may excite in others. |
Tu us felf-ſatisfaftion and vanity may not
only be allowable, but requiſite in a cha-
racer. *'Tis, however, certain, that
breeding and decency require that we ſhou'd
avoid all ſigns and expreſſions, which tend
directly
Book III. Of Morals. „
directly to ſhow that paſſion. We have, SECT.
all of us, a wonderful partiality for our- III.
ſelves, and were we always to give vent to of 2
our ſentiments in this particular, we ſhou d 3 7
mutually cauſe the greateſt indignation in
each other, not only by the immediate pre-
ſence of ſo diſagreeable a ſubject of com- -
pariſon, but alſo by the contrariety of our
judgments. ' In like manner, therefore, as
we eſtabliſh the /aws of nature, in order to
ſecure property in ſociety, and prevent the
oppoſition of ſelf-intereſt ; we eſtabliſh the
rules of” good-breeding, in order to prevent
the oppoſition of men's pride, and render
converſation agreeable and inoffenſive. No-
thing is more diſagreeable than a man's over-
weaning conceit of himſelf : Every one al-
) moſt has a ſtrong propenſity to this vice :
1 No one can well diſtinguiſh in himſelf be-
. twixt the vice and virtue, or be certain,
3 that his eſteem of his own merit is well-
f founded: For theſe reaſons, all direct ex-
„ preſſions of this paſſion are condemn'd ; nor
do we make any exception to this rule in
t favour of men of ſenſe and merit. They
"i are not allow'd to do themſelves juſtice
. openly, in words, no more than other
4 people; and even if they ſhow a reſerve and
d ſecret doubt in doing themſelves juſtice in
y Vox. III. R their
-
mo
oy I ͤ rr rr n 1 ex oye * a
*
242 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
Pax x their own thoughts, they will be mote ap-
III. plauded. That impertinent, and almoſt uni-
of „ verſal propenſity of men, to over-value
other vir- themſelves, has given us ſuch a prejudice againſt
Fues a
vices, ſelf- applauſe, that we are apt to condemn
| it, by a general rule, wherever me meet
with it; and 'tis with ſome difficulty we
give a privilege to men of ſenſe, even in
their moſt ſecret thoughts. At leaſt, it muſt
be own'd, that ſome diſguiſe in this parti-
cular is abſolutely requiſite; and that if we
harbour pride in our breaſts, we muſt carry a
fair outſide, and have the appearance of mo-
deſty and mutual deference in all our con-
duct and behaviour. We muſt, on every
occaſion, be ready to prefer others to our-
elves; to treat them with a kind of defer-
ence, even tho they be our equals; to ſeem
always the loweſt and leaſt in the company,
where we are not very much diftinguiſh'd
above them: And if we obſerve theſe rules
in our conduct, men will have more indul-
gence for our ſecret ſentiments, when we diſ-
cover them in an oblique manner.
\ I BELIEvE no one, who has any prac-
tice of the world, and can penetrate into
the inward ſentiments of men, will aflert,
that the humility, which good-breeding and
| ey require of us, goes beyond the out-
2 Ade,
r FTY es, * * 1
Book III. Of Morals, 443
fide, or that a thorough ſincerity in this 8 c r. |
particular is eſteem'd a real part of our duty, III. 1
> On the contrary, we may obſerve, that a Gf gre |
: genuine and hearty pride, or ſelf-eſteem, if 2% þ N
1 well conceal'd and well founded, is elleniat *
t to the character of a man of honour, and i
a that there is no quality of the mind, which
n is more indiſpenſibly requiſite to procure the
ſt eſteem and approbation of mankind. There ;
A are certain deferences and mutual ſub-
e miſſions, which. cuſtom requires of the dif- |
2 ferent ranks of men towards each other; and 5
> whoever exceeds -in this particular, if thro'
* intereſt, is accus d of meanneſs; if thro ig-
ry norance, of ſimplicity. Tis neceſſary, there-
r fore, to know our rank and ſtation in the
"oY world, whether it be fix'd by our birth,
m fortuge, employments, -talents or reputation.
y. Tis neceſſary to feel the ſentiment and
rd paſſion of pride in conformity to-it, and to
les regulate our actions accordingly. And ſhou'd
al- it be ſaid, that prudence may ſuffice to re-
liſ- gulate our actions in this particular, with-
out any real pride, I wou'd obſerve, that
here the object of prudence is to conform
our actions to the general uſage and cuſtom;
and that tis impoſſible thoſe tacit airs of
ſuperiority ſhou' d ever have been eftabliſh'd
e * + and
F ˙ P —T—T—— b K m ˙ m * re Wo
- 2 . SLERESES 58 - :
244
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART and authoriz'd by cuſtom, unleſs men were
III. generally proud, and unleſs that
paſſion were
G generally approv d, when well- grounded.
other wir-
tues and
vices.
Ir we paſs from common life and con-
verſation to hiſtory, this reaſoning acquires
new foree, when we obſerve, that all thoſe
great actions and ſentiments, which have
become the admiration of mankind, are
founded on nothing but pride and ſelf-
_ eſteem. Go, ſays Alexander the Great to his
foldiers, when they refus d to follow him
to the Indies, go tell your countrymen, that
you left Alexander compleating the conqueſt of
tbe world, This paſſage was always par-
ticularly admir'd by the prince of Conde, as
we learn from St. Evremond. .** Alexander, 4
ſaid that prince, © abandon'd by his ſoldiers,
« among. barbarians, not. yet fully ſubdu'd,
« felt in himſelf ſuch a dignity and right of
empire, that he cou'd not believe it poſſi-
* ble any one cou'd refuſe to obey him.
Whether in Europe
* Greeks or Per fians, all was indifferent to
ee him: Wherever he found men, he fancied
or in _Afa, among
*< he had found ſubjects.”
.} In general we may obſerve, that what-
ever we call heroic virtue, and admire under
the character of greatneſs and elevation of
mind, is either nothing but a ſteady and
well-cſtabliſh'd pride and ſelf-eſteem, or
partakes
Book III. Of Morals.
partakes largely of that paſſion. Courage, SE CT.
intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, mag-
nanimity, and all the other ſhining virtues of 7
that kind, have plainly a ſtrong mixture of 1 . {
ſelf-eſteem in them, and derive a great part
of their merit from that origin. Accord-.
ingly we find, that many religious de-
claimers decry thoſe virtues as purely pagan
and natural, and repreſent to us the excel-
lency of the Chriſtian religloh; which places
humility, in the rank of virtues, and corrects
the judgment of the world, and even of
philoſophers, who ſo generally admire all
the efforts of pride and ambition. Whether
this virtue of humility has been rightly un-
derſtood, I ſhall not pretend to determine.
I am content with the conceſſion, that the
world naturally eſteems a well-regulated pride,
which ſecretly animates our conduct, with-
out breaking out into ſuch indecent ex-
preſſions of vanity, as may offend the vanity
of others. | |
Tux merit of pride or ſelf-eſteem is de-
riv'd from two circumſtances, via. its utility
and its agreeableneſs to ourſelves; by which
it capacitates us for buſineſs, and, at the
ſame time, gives us an immediate ſatisfaction.
When it goes beyond its juſt bounds, it loſes
Ge! firſt advantage, and even becomes pre-
| m3 - judicial;
246
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PAR Tjudicial; which is the reaſon why we con-
III.
87 the
demn an extravagant pride and ambition,
5; 3, ** however regulated by the decorums of good-
other wir- breeding and politeneſs, But as ſuch a
tue and
WICES,
paſſion is ſtill agreeable, and conveys an
elevated and ſublime ſenſation to the perſon,
who is actuated by it, the ſympathy with
that ſatisfaction diminiſhes conſiderably the
blame, which turally attends its dangerous
influence on conduct and behaviour,
Accordingly we may obſerve, that an ex-
ceſſive courage and magnanimity, eſpecially
when it diſplays itſelf under the frowns of
fortune, contributes, in a great meaſure, to
the character of a hero, and will render a
perſon the admiration of poſterity ; at the
ſame time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads
him into dangers and difficulties, with which
otherwiſe he wou'd never haye been ac-
quainted.
HEROILSsM, or military glory, is much
admir'd by the generality of mankind. They
conſider it as the moſt ſublime kind of
merit. Men of cool reflection are not ſo
ſanguine in their praiſes of it. The in-
finite confuſions and diſorder, which it has
caus'd in the world, diminiſh much of its
merit in their eyes. When they wou'd op-
poſe the popular notions on this head, they
always
Book III. Of Morals. 447
always paint out the evils, which this ſup- SE c T.
pos d virtue has produc'd in human ſociety; II.
the ſubverſion of empires, the devaſtation of Qa
provinces, the fack of cities. As long as ff
theſe are preſent” to us, we are more inclin *
to hate than admire the ambition of heroes.
But when we fix our view on the perſon _
himſelf, who is the author of all this miſ-
chief, there is ſomething ſo dazling in his
character, the mere contemplation of it ſo
elevates the mind, that we cannot refuſe it
our admiration. The pain, which we re-
ceive from its tendency to the prejudice of
ſociety, is over-power'd by a ſtronger and
more immediate ſympathy. :
| Tavs our explication of the merit or
demerit, which attends the degrees of pride
or ſelf-eſteem, may ſerve as a ſtrong argu-
ment for the preceding hypotheſis, by ſhew-
ing the effects of thoſe principles above ex-
plain'd in all the variations of our judgments
concerning that paſſion. Nor will this rea-
ſoning be advantageous to us only by ſhew-
ing, that the diſtinction of vice and virtue
ariſes from the four principles of the advan-
tage and of the pleaſure of the perſon him-
felf, and of others : But may alſo afford us
R 4 a
248
A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART a ſtrong proof of ſome under. parts nd that
Of the
hypotheſis.
No one, who duly conſiders” wa this
other vir- matter, will make any ſcruple of allowing,
re” any piece of ill breeding, or any expreſſion
Vices.
of pride and baughtineſs, is diſpleaſing to us,
merely becauſe it ſhocks our own pride, and
leads us by ſympathy into a compariſon,
which cauſes the diſagreeable paſſion of hu-
mility. Now as an inſolence of this kind
is blam'd even in a perſon Who has always
been civil to ourſelves in particular; nay,
in one, whoſe name is only known te us in
hiſtory ; it follows, that our diſapprobation
proceeds from a ſympathy with others, and
from the reflection, that ſuch a character is
highly diſpleaſing and odious to every one,
who converſes or has any intercourſe with
the perſon poſſeſt of it. We ſympathize
with thoſe people in their uneaſineſs; and as
their uneaſineſs proceeds i in part from a ſym-
pathy with the perſon who inſults them,
we may here obſerve a double rebound of
the ſympathy -; which is \a principle very
ſimilar to what we have obſery'd « on Ae
occaſion *,
SECT:
Bock II. Part II. Seft. v.
Book III. Of Morals. 249
er m
2 goodneſs and benevolence
TAVING thus explain'd the origin 8 cr.
of that praiſe and approbation, which .—5 |
attends every thing we call great in human
affections ; we now proceed to give an ac-
f count of their goodneſs, and ſhew whence its
merit is deriv d.
f Wurx experience has once given us a
competent knowledge of human affairs, and
MR has taught us the proportion they bear to
human paſſion, we perceive, that the gene-
l roſity of men is very limited, and that it
e ſeldom extends beyond their friends and fa-
8 mily, or, at moſt, beyond their native coun-
A try. Being thus acquainted with the nature
„ of man, we expect not any impoſſibilities
f from him ; but confine our view to that
y narrow circle, in which any perſon moves,
r in order to form a judgment of his moral
character. When the natural tendency of
his paſſions leads him to be ſerviceable and
js _ uſeful within his ſphere, we approve of his
character, and love his perſon, by a ſym-
1 pathy
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260 AA Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART pathy with the ſentiments of thoſe, who
III. have a more particular connexion with him.
Of the We are quickly oblig'd to forget our own
other vir- intereſt in our judgments of this kind, by
17-0 " reaſon of the perpetual contradiQtions, we
meet with in ſociety and converſation, from
. perſons that are not plac'd in the fame ſitu-
ation, and have not the fame intereſt with
ourſelves. The only point of view, in which
our ſentiments concur with thoſe of others,
is, when we conſider the tendency of any
paſſion to the advantage or harm of thoſe,
| who have any immediate connexion or inter-
courſe with the perſon poſleſs'd of it. And
tho this advantage or harm be often very
remote from ourſelves, yet ſometimes tis
very near us, and intereſts us ſtrongly by
ſympathy. This concern we readily extend
to other caſes, that are reſembling ; and
when theſe are very remote, our ſympathy
is proportionably weaker, and our praiſe or
blame fainter and more doubtful. The caſe
1s here the ſame as in our judgments con-
cerning external bodies. All objects ſeem to
diminiſh by their diſtance : But tho' the ap-
pearance of objects to our ſenſes be the ori-
ginal ſtandard, by which we judge of them,
yet we do not ſay, that they actually dimi-
niſh by the diſtance ; but correcting the ap-
pearance
— —
O
FTE ² . 1. OD!
Book III. Of Moralt. =
pearance by reflection, arrive at a more con- S Er.
ſtant and eſtabliſh'd judgment concerning III.
them. In like manner, tho ſympathy be 5; 3,0
much fainter than our concern for ourſelves, 2% and
and a ſympathy with perſons remote from —
us much fainter than that with perſons near
and contiguous; yet we neglect all theſe dif-
ferences in our calm judgments concerning
the characters of men. Beſides, that we
ourſelves often change our ſituation in this
particular, we every day meet with perſons,
who are in a different ſituation from our-
ſelves, and who cou'd never converſe with
us on any reaſonable terms, were we to re-
main conſtantly in that ſituation and point
of view, which 1s peculiar to us. The in-
tercourſe of ſentiments, therefore, in ſociety
and converſation, makes us form ſome general
inalterable ſtandard, by which we may ap-
prove or diſapprove of characters and man-
ners. And tho the heart does not always
take part with thoſe general notions, or re-
gulate its love and hatred by them, yet
are they ſufficient for diſcourſe, and ſerve all
our purpoſes in company, in the pulpit, on
the theatre, and in the ſchools.
From theſe principles we may eaſily ac-
count for that merit, which is commonly
aſcrib'd to generoſity, bumanity, compaſſion,
gratitude,
252
A Treatiſe of Human Wature.'
P * RT 7 gratitude, friendſhip,” fidelity, zeal, difin-
Of th
other ie and benevolent. A propenſity to the tender
ue:
QUICES.
tereſtedneſi, liberality, and all thoſe other
qualities, which form the character of good
paſſions makes a man agreeable and uſeful in
all the parts of life; and gives a juſt direction
to all his other qualities, which otherwiſe
may become prejudicial to ſociety. Courage
and ambition, when not regulated by bene-
volence, are fit only to make a tyrant and
public robber. Tis the ſame caſe with judg-
ment and capacity, and all the qualities of
that kind. They are indifferent in them-
ſelves to the intereſts of ſociety, and have a
tendency to the good or ill of mankind, ac-
cording as they are directed by theſe other
paſſions.
As love is immediately agreeable to the
perſon, who is actuated by it, and hatred
immediately diſagreeable; this may alſo be a
conſiderable reaſon, why we praiſe all the
paſſions that partake of the former, and
blame all thoſe that have any conſiderable
ſhare of the latter. Tis certain we are in-
finitely touch'd with a tender ſentiment, as
well as with a great one. The tears natu-
rally ſtart in our eyes at the conception of
it; nor can we forbear giving a looſe to the
fame tenderneſs towards the perſon who ex-
erts
Book II. Of Merah. 253
erts it. All this ſeems to me a proof, that 8 EC r.
our approbation has, in thoſe caſes, an origin III.
different from the proſpect of utility and ad- pag
vantage, either to ourſelves or others. To 2 -_
which we may add, that men naturally, Lac
without reflection, approve of that character,
which is moſt like their own. The man of
a mild diſpoſition and tender affections, in
forming a notion of the moſt perfect virtue,
mixes in it more of beneyolence and huma-
nity, than the man of courage and enter-
prize, who naturally looks upon a certain
elevation of mind as the moſt accom-
pliſh'd character: This muſt evidently pro-
ceed from an immediate ſympathy, which
men have with characters ſimilar to their
own. They enter with more warmth into
ſuch ſentiments, and feel more Galibly, the
pleaſure, which ariſes from them. -
Tis remarkable, that nothing touches a
man of humanity more than any inſtance of
extraordinary delicacy i in love or friendſhip,
where a perſon is attentive to the ſmalleſt
concerns of his friend, and is willing to facri-
fice to them the moſt conſiderable intereſt of
his own. Such delicacies have little influence
on ſociety ; ; becauſe they make us regard the
greateſt trifles: But they are the more en-
gaging, the more minute the concern is, and
1 ; are
254
A Treatiſe of H. aman Nature.
Pa R x are a proof of the higheſt merit in any one,
III. who is capable of them. The paſſions are
Go 5 ſo contagious, that they paſs with the greateſt
— vir. facility from one perſon to another, and pro-
tues and
VICES,
| duce correſpondent movements in all human
breaſts, Where friendſhip appears in very
ſignal inſtances, my heart catches the ſame
paſſion, and is warm'd by thoſe warm ſenti-
ments, that difplay themſelves before me.
Such agreeable movements muſt give me an
affection to every one that excites them.
This is the caſe with every thing that is
agreeable in any perſon. The tranſition from
pleaſure to love is eaſy: But the tranſition
muſt here be {till more eaſy ; ſince the agree-
able ſentiment, which is excited by ſym-
pathy, is love itſelf; and there is nothing
requir'd but to change the object.
Hznce the peculiar merit of benevolence
in all its ſhapes and appearances. Hence
even its weakneſſes are virtuous and amiable ;
and a perſon, whoſe grief upon the loſs of a
friend were exceſſive, won'd be eſteem'd
upon that account. His tenderneſs beſtows
a merit, as it does a pleaſure, on his melan-
choly.
We are not, however, to imagine, that
all the angry paſſions are vicious, tho' they
are difagreeable, There is a certain indul-
Book. III. Of Moral. 255
due to human nature in this reſpect. S E c r.
| Anger and hatred are paſſions inherent in III.
our very frame and conſtitution, The want Of gud.
| of them, on ſome occaſions, may even be 22
| a proof of weakneſs and imbecillity, And lence.
where they appear only in a low degree, we
| not only excuſe them becauſe they are na-
tural; but even beſtow. our applauſes on
| them, becauſe they are inferior to what ap-
| pears in the greateſt part of mankind. -
Wr theſe angry paſſions riſe up to
cruelty, they form the moſt deteſted of all
vices. All the pity and concern which we
have for the miſerable ſufferers by this vice,
turns againſt the perſon guilty of it, and pro-
duces a ſtronger hatred than we are ſenſible
of on any other occaſion.
Even when the vice of inhumanity riſes
not to this extreme degree,. our ſentiments
concerning it are very much influenc'd by re-
flections on the harm that reſults from it. And
we may. obſcrye in general, that if we can find
any quality in a perſon, which renders him
incommodious to thoſe, who live and converſe
with him, we always allow it to be a fault
or blemiſh, without any farther examina-
tion. On the other hand, when we enu-
merate the good qualities of any perſon, we
always mention thoſe parts of his character,
which
256 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
'PART which render him a fafe companion, an eaſy
III. friend, a gentle maſter, an agreeable huſ.
r band, or an indulgent father. We conſider
other vir- him with all his relations in ſociety; and
vice, love or hate him, according as he affects
thoſe, who have any immediate intercourſe
with him. And 'tis a moſt certain rule,
that if there be no relation of life, in which
I cou'd not wiſh to ſtand to a particular
perſon, his character muſt ſo far be allow'd
to be perfect. If he be as little wanting to
bhbimſelf as to others, his character is entirely
perfect. This is the ultimate teſt of merit
and virtue. : ;
5
5 110 natural abilities. s
SET. FT O diftindtion is more uſual in all
IV. L V ſyſtems of ethics, than that betwixt
natural abilities and moral virtues; where
the former are plac'd on the ſame footing
with bodily endowments, and are ſuppos d
to have no merit or moral worth annex'd to
them. Whoever conſiders the matter accn-
rately, will find, that a diſpute upon this
head wou d be merely a diſpute of words,
and
E OE. dd Er
Book III. C/ Morals.
and that tho theſe qualities are not alto- 8 x C r.
gether of the ſame kind, yet they agree in IV.
the moſt material circumſtances. They are Lf
both of them equally mental qualities: And 5 .
both of them equally produce pleaſure and
have of courſe an equal tendency to pro-
cure the love and eſteem of mankind. There
are few, who are not as jealous of their
character, with regard to ſenſe and know-
ledge, as to honour and courage ; and much
more than with regard to temperance and
ſobriety. Men are even afraid of paſſing
for good-natur'd ; leſt that ſhou'd be taken
for want of underſtanding : And often boaſt
of more debauches than they have been
really engag d in, to give themſelves airs of
ſire and ſpirit. In ſhort, the figure a man
makes in the world, the reception he meets
with in company, the eſteem paid him by
his acquaintance ; all theſe advantages depend
almoſt as much upon his good ſenſe and
judgment, as upon any other part of his
character. Let a man have the beſt inten-
tions in the world, and be the fartheſt from
all injuſtice and violence, he will never be
able to make himſelf be much regarded,
| without a moderate ſhare, at leaſt, of parts
and underſtanding. Since then natural abi-
lities, tho', perhaps, inferior, yet are on the
Vor, III, 8 ſame
258 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART ſame footing, both as to their cauſes and
III. effects, with thoſe qualities which we call
. moral virtues, why ſhou'd we make any
parry} wa diſtinction betwixt them?
vices, Tuo' we refuſe to natural abilities the
title of virtues, we muſt allow, that they
procure the love and eſteem of mankind ;
that they give a new luſtre: to the other vir-
tues; and that a man poſſeſs d of them is
much more intitled to our good-will and
ſervices, than one entirely void of them, It
may, indeed, be pretended, that the ſenti-
ment of approbation, which thoſe qu alities
produce, beſides its being inferior, is alſo
ſomewhat different from that, which attends
the other virtues. But this, in my opinion,
1s not a ſufficient reafon for excluding them
| from the catalogue of virtues. Each of the
1 virtues, even benevolence, juſtice, gratitude, |
integrity, excites a different ſentiment or |
feeling in the ſpectator. The characters .
Ceſar and Cato, as drawn by Salluſt, ar ;
both of them virtuous, in the ſtricteſt alt
of the word; but in a different way: Nor
are the ſentiments entirely the ſame, which
ariſe from them. The one produces love;
the other eſteem : The one is amiable ; the
other awful: We cou'd wiſh to meet with
the one character in a friend; the other cha-
en b EE IM racter
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Book III.
d rater we wou'd be ambitious of in ourſelves. S EHT.
Il In like manner, the approbation, which at- IV.
y tends natural abilities may be ſomewhat 8
different to the feeling from that, which 7 abi6-
e ariſes from the other virtues, without 2
L making them entirely of a different ſpecies.
= ral abilities, no more than the other virtues,
Is produce not, all of them, the ſame kind of
1d approbation. Good ſenſe and genius beget
It eſteem: Wit and humour excite love *.
ti- Tuosx, who repreſent the diſtinction be-
ies twixt natural abilities and moral virtues as
ſo very material, may ſay, that the former are
ds entirely involuntary, and have therefore no
n, merit attending them, as having no depend-
m WW ance on liberty and free-will. But to this I
he W anſwer, firſt, that many of thoſe qualities,
de, which all moraliſts, eſpecially the antients,
of comprehend under the title of moral virtues,
of are equally involuntary and neceſſary, with
are the qualities of the judgment and imagina-
nſec eee een oy tion,
(or - | | |
ich Love and eſteem are at the bottom the ſame paſſions, and
de; ariſe from like cauſes. The qualities, that produce both, are
f agreeable, and give pleaſure. But where this pleaſure is ſe-
the vere and ſerious ; or where its object is great, and makes a
ich ſtrong impreſſion ; or where it produces any of bumi-
lity and awe: In all theſe caſes, the paſſion, which ariſes
A Ein
And indeed we may obſerve, that the natu-
in a more eminent degree.
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260
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Par Ttion, Of this nature are. conſtancy, forti-
III.
Of th
other wir- might ſay the ſame, in ſome degree, of the
Fues a
VICES.
tude, magnanimity ; and, in ſhort, all the
qualities which form the great man. I
others; it being almoſt impoſſible for the
mind to change its character in any con-
ſiderable article, or cure itſelf of a paſſionate
or ſplenetic temper, when they are natural
to it. The greater degree there is of theſe
blameable qualities, the more vicious they
become, and yet they are the leſs voluntary,
Secondly, I wou'd have any one give me a
reaſon, why virtue and vice, may not be in-
voluntary, as well as beauty and deformity.
Theſe moral diſtinctions ariſe from the natu-
ral diſtinctions of pain and pleaſure; and
when we receive thoſe feelings from the
general conſideration of any quality or cha-
rater, we denominate it vicious or virtuous.
Now I believe. no one will aſſert, that a
quality can never produce pleaſure or pain
to the perſon who conſiders it, unleſs it be
perfectly voluntary in the perſon who poſ-
ſeſſes it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have
ſhewn that it has no place with regard to
the actions, no more than the qualities of
men. It is not a juſt conſequence, that
what is voluptary is free. Our actions are
more voluntary than our Judgments; ; but we
2 have
Book III. Of Moral, . 23561
have not more liberty in the one than in Sz cr.
the other. .
Bor tho this diſtinction betwixt volun- ee
tary and .involuntary be not ſufficient to ju- % C
ſtify the diſtinction betwixt natural abilities
and moral virtues, yet the former diſtinction
will afford us a plauſible reaſon, why mo-
raliſts have invented the latter. Men have >
obſery'd, that tho' natural abilities and moral |
qualities be in the main on the fame footing,
there is, however, this difference betwixt
them, that the former are almoſt invariable
by any art or induſtry ; while the latter, or
at leaſt, the actions, that proceed from them,
may be chang'd by the motives of reward
and puniſhment, praiſe and blame. Hence
legiſlators, and divines, and moraliſts, have
principally applied themſelves to the regu-
lating theſe voluntary actions, and have en-
deavour'd to produce additional motives for
being virtuous in that particular. They
knew, that to puniſh a man for folly, or
exhort him to be prudent and fagacious,
wou'd have but little effect; tho' the ſame
puniſhments and exhortations, with regard
to juſtice and injuſtice, might have a con-
ſiderable influence. But as men, in com-
mon life and converſation, do not carry thoſe
e in view, but naturally praiſe or blame
8 3 whatever
262 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART whatever pleaſes or diſpleaſes them, they do
III. not ſeem much to regard this diſtinction, but
Or the © conſider prudence under the character of vir-
Lean tue as well as benevolence, and penetration
wices, As well as juſtice, Nay, we find, that all
moraliſts, whoſe judgment is not perverted
by a ſtrict adherence to a ſyſtem, enter into
the ſame way of thinking; and that the
antient moraliſts in particular made no ſcru-
ple of placing prudence at the head of, the
cardinal virtues. There is a ſentiment of
eſteem and approbation, which may be ex-
cited, in ſome degree, by any faculty of the
mind, in its perfe& ſtate and condition ;
and to account for this ſentiment is the buſi-
neſs of Philoſophers. It belongs to Gram- '
marians to examine what qualities are en-
titled to the denomination of virtue; nor
will they find, upon trial, that this is ſo eaſy
a taſk, as at firſt * they may be ** to
imagine.
THE principal meſon why natural abili-
ties are eſteem'd, is becauſe of their tendency
to be uſeful to the perſon, who is poſſeſs d of
them. Tis impoſſible to execute any deſign
with ſucceſs, where it is not conducted with
prudence and diſcretion ; nor will the good-
neſs of our intentions alone ſuffice to pro-
cure us a happy flue to our enterprizes.
Men
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Oz
7
Book mr Of Morals.
Men are ſuperior to beaſts principally by the 8 cr.
ſuperiority of their reaſon; and they are the IV.
degrees of the ſame faculty, which ſet ſuch go an.
an infinite difference betwixt one man and * abili-
another. All the advantages of art are owing
to human reaſon ; and where fortune is not
very capricious, the moſt conſiderable part
of theſe advantages muſt fall to the ſhare of
the prudent and ſagacious.
WHEN it is aſk'd, whether a quick « ora
ſlow apprehenſion be moſt valuable? whether
one, that at firſt view penetrates into a ſub-
jet, but can perform nothing upon ſtudy 3
or a contrary character, which muſt work
out every thing by dint of application ?
whether a clear head, or a copious inven-
tion ? whether a profound genius, or a ſure
judgment? in ſhort, what character, or pe-
culiar underſtanding, is more excellent than'
another? Tis evident we can anſwer none
of theſe queſtions, without conſidering which
of thoſe qualities capacitates a man beſt for
the world, and carries him fartheſt in any of!
his undertakings. |
THERE are many other qualities of the
mind, whoſe merit is deriv'd from the ſame
origin. Induſtry, perſeverance, patience, ac-
tivity, vigilance, application, conſtancy, with
other virtues of that kind, which 'twill be
S 4 eaſy
264 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
Pax r. eaſy to recollect, are eſteem'd valuable upon
III. no other account, than their advantage in
r the conduct of life. Tis the ſame caſe with
other wir- temperance, frugality, oeconomy, reſolution :
view. As on the other hand, prodigality, luxury,
irreſolution, uncertainty, are vicious, merely
becauſe they draw ruin upon us, and inca-
pacitate us for buſineſs and action.
As wiſdom and good-ſenſe are valued,
\ becauſe they are uſeful to the perſon poſſeſs d
of them; ſo wit and eloquence are valued,
becauſe they are immediately agreeable to
others, On the other hand, good humour is
lov'd and eſteem'd, becauſe it is immediately
agreeable to the perſon himſelf. Tis evi»
: dent, that the converſation of a man of wit
is very ſatisfactory; as a chearful good-hu-
mour'd companion diffuſes a joy over the
whole company, from a ſympathy with his
= gaiety. Theſe qualities, therefore, being
agreeable, they naturally beget love and
_ eſteem, and _—_— to all the nn of
virtue.
Tiis difficult to tell, on many eccafions,
what it is that renders one man's converſation
fo agreeable and entertaining, and another's
ſo 1 and diſtaſteful. As converſation is
a tre of the mind as well as books,
the r which render the one
8 valuable,
Book III. of Morals. | 265
valuable, —_ give us an eſteem for theSE CT.
other. This we ſhall conſider afterwards. IV.
In the mean time it may be affirm'd in ge- A
neral, that all the merit a man may derive '* * 4
from his converſation (which, no doubt, $i
may be very conſiderable) ariſes from nao ñßĩ7Vi
thing but the pleaſure it conveys to thoſe —
who are preſent.
In this view, cleanlineſs is alſo to be re-
garded as a virtue; ſince it naturally renders
us agreeable to others, and is a very con-
ſiderable ſource of love and affection. No 4
one will deny, that a negligence in this par- | 9
ticular is a fault; and as faults are nothing | i
but ſmaller vices, and this fault can have no
other origin than the uneaſy ſenſation, which 1
it excites in others, we may in this inſtance, 1
ſeemingly ſo trivial, clearly diſcover the ori- |
gin of the moral diſtinction of vice and vir-
tue in other inſtances.
Bes1DEs all thaſe qualities, which render
a perſon lovely or valuable, there is alſo a
certain je- neſcai-quoi of agreeable and hand-
ſome, that concurs to the ſame effect. In
this caſe, as well as in that of wit and elo-
| quence, we muſt have recourſe to a certain
ſenſe, which acts without reflection, and re-
| gards not the tendencies of qualities and
characters. Some moraliſts account for all
—
266 A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART the ſentiments of virtue by this ſenſe, Their
III. hypotheſis is very plauſible. Nothing but a
Gf the particular enquiry can give the preference to
au other hypotheſis. When we find, that
— almoſt all the virtues have ſuch particular ten-
dencies; and alſo find, that theſe tendencies
are ſufficient alone to give a ſtrong ſenti-
ment of approbation : We cannot doubt,
after this, that qualities are approv'd of, in
proportion to the advantage, which reſults
from them.
Tur decorum or indecorum of a quality,
with regard to the age, or character, or ſta-
tion, contributes alſo to its praiſe or blame.
This decorum depends, in a great meaſure,
upon experience, Tis uſual to ſee men loſe
their levity, as they advance in years. Such
a degree of gravity, therefore, and ſuch
years, are connected together in our thoughts.
When we obſerve them ſeparated in any
perſon's character, this impoſes a kind of
violence on our en and is dif; _
able.
THrar faculty of the ſoul, which, of: all
others, is of the leaſt conſequence to the
character, and has the leaſt virtue or vice in
its ſeveral degrees, at the ſame time, that it
admits of a great variety of degrees, is the
2 . it riſe up to that ſtupen-
dous
Book III. Of Moral. 267
dous height as to ſurprize us, or fink ſo low Sx c well *
as, in ſome meaſure, to affect the judgment, IV.
we commonly take no notice of its varia- ng
tions, nor ever mention them to the praiſe vl abili-
or diſpraiſe of any perſon, *Tis fo far from
being a virtue to have a good memory, that
men generally affect to complain of a bad
one; and endeavouring to perſuade the world,
that what they ſay is entirely of their own
invention, facrifice it to the praiſe of genius
and judgment. Vet to conſider the matter
abſtractedly, 'twou'd be difficult to give a 1
reaſon, why the faculty of recalling . paſt 9
ideas with truth and clearneſs, ſhou'd not , |
have as much. merit in it, as the faculty of i
placing our preſent ideas in ſuch an order,
as to form true propoſitions and opinions. 16
The reaſon of the difference certainly muſt
be, that the memory is exerted without any ;
ſenſation of pleaſure or pain; and in all its 1
middling degrees ſerves almoſt equally well
in buſineſs and affairs. But the leaſt varia-
tions in the judgment are ſenſibly felt in their "þ
- conſequences ; while at the ſame time that |
faculty is never exerted in any eminent de-
gree, without an extraordinary delight and
ſatisfaction. The ſympathy with this utility
and pleaſure beſtows a merit on the under-
ſtanding; and the abſence of it makes us
conſider
268
A Treatiſe of Human N ature.
PART conſider the memory as a faculty wy in-
III.
—
Of the
different to blame or praiſe.
Brroxz I leave this ſubject of natural
other vir- abilities, I muſt obſerve, that, perhaps, one
3 and
ſource of the eſteem and affection, which
attends them, is deriv'd from the importance
and weight, Which they beſtow on the per-
ſon poſſeſs d of them. He becomes of
greater conſequence in life. His reſolutions
and actions affect a greater number of his
fellow creatures. Both his friendſhip and
enmity are of moment. And 'tis eaſy to
obſerve, that whoever is elevated, after this
manner, above the reſt of mankind, muſt
excite in us the ſentiments of eſteem and
approbation. Whatever is important engages
our attention, fixes cur thought, and is con-
templated with fatisfaction, The hiſtories
of kingdoms are more intereſting than do-
meſtic ſtories: The hiſtories of great empires
more than thoſe of ſmall cities and principa-
lities: And the hiſtories of wars and revo-
lutions more than thoſe of peace and order.
We ſympathize with the perſons that ſuffer,
in all the various ſentiments which belong
to their fortunes. Ihe mind is occupied by
the multitude of the objects, and by the
ſtrong paſſions, that diſplay themſelves. And
— —
commonly
Book III. Of Moral. 269
commonly agreeable and amuſing. The fame 8 Rr.
theory accounts for the eſteem and regard IV. "
we pay to men of extraordinary parts and NN 6
abilities. The good and ill of multitudes 2 ——
are connected with their actions. Whatever
they undertake is important, and challenges |
our attention. Nothing is to be over-look'd q!
and deſpis d, that regards them. And where 1
any perſon can excite theſe ſentiments, he | !
ſoon acquires our eſteem ; unleſs other cir-
cumſtances of his character render him
odious and diſagreeable.
.
Some farther reflections concerning |
the natural virtue.
Tr has been obſerv'd, in treating of the 8 K Cr.
paſſions, that pride and humility, love V.
and hatred, are excited by any advantages or
diſadvantages of the mind, body, or fortune;
and that theſe advantages or diſadvantages
have that effect by producing a ſeparate im-
preſſion of pain or pleaſure. The pain or
pleaſure, which ariſes from the general ſur-
vey or view of any action or quality of the
mind, conſtitutes its vice or virtue, and gives
—— — —
270
A Treatiſe of Human Wature.
Pa Rr riſe to our approbation or blame, which is
III.
Va;
Of the
other vir-
tues and
vices.
nothing but a fainter and more imperceptible
love or hatred. We have aſſign'd four dif-
ferent ſources of this pain and pleaſure; and
in order to juſtify more fully that hypo-
— it may here be proper to obſerve, that
—
the advantages or diſadvantages of the body
and of fortune, produce a pain or pleafure
| from the very fame principles. The ten-
dency of any object to be uſeful to the per-
ſon poſleſs'd of it, or to others; to convey
pleaſure to him or to others; all theſe cir-
cumſtances convey an immediate pleaſure to
the perſon, who confiders the object, and
command his love and approbation.
To begin with the advantages of the body ;
we may obſerve a phænomenon, which might
appear ſomewhat trivial and ludicrous, if any
thing cou'd be trivial, which fortified a con-
cluſion of ſuch importance, or ludicrous,
which was employ'd in a philoſophical rea-
ſoning. *Tis a general remark, that thofe
we call good women's men, who have either
ſignaliz d themſelves by their amorous ex-
ploits, or whoſe make of body promiſes any
extraordinary vigour of that kind, are well
received by the fair ſex, and naturally engage
the affections even of thoſe, whoſe virtue pre-
vents ond deſign of ever giving employment
to
Book III. Of Morals. _ 271
to thoſe talents. Here tis evident, that the SE CT.
ability of ſuch a perſon to give enjoyment, is
the real ſource of that love and eſteem he Some far- |
meets with among the females; at the ſame — "mc 4
time that the women, who love and eſteem concerning ,
him, have no proſpe& of receiving that en- on —
joyment themſelves, and can only be affected .
by means of their ſympathy with one, that 0
has a commerce of love with him. This
inſtance is ſingular, and merits our atten-
tion. |
ANnoTHER ſource of the pleaſure we re- |
ceive from conſidering bodily advantages, is |
their utility to the perſon himſelf, who is 1
poſſeſs'd of them. Tis certain, that a con-
ſiderable part of the beauty of men, as well
as of other animals, conſiſts in ſuch a con-
formation of members, as we find by ex-
perience to be attended with ſtrength and
agility, and to capacitate the creature for any
action or exerciſe. Broad ſhoulders, a lank
belly, firm joints, taper legs; all theſe are
beautiful in our ſpecies, becauſe they are
ſigns of force and vigour, which being ad-
vantages we naturally ſympathize with, they
convey to the beholder a ſhare of that ſatiſ-
faction they produce in the poſſeſſor.
So far as to the utility, which may attend
any quality of the body. As to the imme-
| FLY diate
Wo PI 4. & 22 ö r 4
. ®: 230d —
* — —
' —— *
292 A Treatiſe of Human Wature.
PAR 1 diate pleaſure, 'tis certain, that an air of
Ul. health, as well as of ſtrength and agility,
EE makes a conſiderable part of beauty ; and
eber vir that a ſickl y air in another is always diſ-
tues and
vices. - agreeable, upon account of that idea of pain
- and uneafineſs, which it conveys to us. On
the other hand, we are pleas'd with the re-
gularity of our own features, tho it be nei-
ther uſeful to ourſelves nor others; and 'tis
neceſſary for us, in ſome meaſure, to ſet our-
ſelves at a diſtance, to make it convey to us
any ſatisfaction. We commonly confider
ourſelves as we appear in the eyes of others,
and ſympathize with the advantageous ſen-
timents they entertain with regard to us.
How far the advantages of fortune pro-
duce eſteem and approbation from the ſame
principles, we may fatisfy ourſelves by
reflefting on our precedent reaſoning on
that ſubject. We have obſery'd, that our
approbation of thoſe, who are poſſeſs d of
the advantages of fortune, may be aſcrib'd to
three different cauſes. Firſt, To that im-
| mediate pleaſure, which a rich man gives us,
by the view of the beautiful cloaths, equi-
page, gardens, or houſes, which he poſſeſſes.
Secondly, To the adyantage, which we hope
to reap rk him by his generoſity and libe-
rality. Thirdly, To the pleaſure and advan-
tage,
92
> . Aa
mg =} & mn && Foy mh Q © ms ©@ © ©.
=. > 9
So @& = © a
Book III. C/ Morals. © : 292
tage, which he himſelf reaps from his poſ-S Er.
ſeſſions, and which produce an agreeable . 2
ſympathy in us. Whether we aſcribe our *
eſteem of the rich and great to one or all of 2 f.
efions
theſe cauſes, we may clearly ſee the traces of concerning
thoſe principles, which give riſe to the ſenſe % c
of vice and virtue. I believe moſt people, .
at firſt fight, will be inclin'd to aſcribe our
eſteem of the rich to ſelf-intereſt, and the
proſpe& of advantage. But as tis certain
that our eſteem or deference extends onf
any proſpect of advantage to ourſelves, tis
evident, that that ſentiment muſt proceed
from a ſympathy with thoſe, who are de-
pendent on the perſon we eſteem and reſpe&,
and who have an immediate connexion with
him. We conſider him as a perſon capable
of contributing to the happineſs or enjoy-
ment of his fellow-creatures, whoſe ſenti-
ments, with regard to him, we naturally
embrace. And this conſideration will ſerve
to juſtify my hypotheſis in preferring the
third principle to the other two, and aſcribing
our eſteem of the rich to a ſympathy with
the pleaſure and advantage, which they them-
ſelves receive from their poſſeſſions. For as
even the other two principles cannot operate
to a due extent, or account for all the phæ-
nomena, without having recourſe_to a ſym-
Vor. III. * pathꝝ
274 A Treatiſe of Human Nature.
PART pathy of one kind or other; 'tis much more
III. natural to chuſe that ſympathy, which is
* immediate and direct, than that which is re-
3 mote and indirect. To which we may add.
vice, that where the riches or power are very
great, and render the perſon conſiderable and
important in the world, the eſteem attend-
ing them, may, in part, be aſcrib'd to ano-
ther ſource, diſtin from theſe three, via.
their intereſting the mind by a proſpe& of
che multitude, and importance of their con-
ſequences: Tho, in order to account for the
operation of this principle, we muſt alſo
have recourſe to ſympathy ; as we have ob-
ſery'd in the preceding ſection.
IT may not be amiſs, on this occaſion, to
| remark the flexibility of our ſentiments, and
the ſeveral changes they ſo readily receive
from the objects, with which they are con-
join d. All the ſentiments of approbation,
which attend any particular ſpecies of ob-
jects, have a great reſemblance to each other,
tho' deriv'd from different ſources; and, on
the other hand, thoſe ſentiments, when di-
rected to different objects, are different to
the feeling; tho' deriv'd from the fame ſource.
Thus the beauty of all viſible objects cauſes
w pleaſure pretty much the ſame, tho it be
times deriv'd from the mere ſpecies and
appearance
2
Book III. Of Moral - 275
appearance of the objects; ſometimes from 8 E CT.
ſympathy, and an idea of their utility. In V.
like manner, whenever we ſurvey the actions ge far- -
ther con-
and characters of men, without any particu- 3
lar intereſt in them, the pleaſure, or pain, concerning
which ariſes from the ſurvey (with ſome as.
minute differences) is, in the main, of the tue.
ſame kind, tho' perhaps there be a great
diverſity in the cauſes, from which it is de-
riv d. On the other hand, a convenient
houſe, and a virtuous character, cauſe not
the fame feeling of approbation; even tho
the ſource of our approbation be the ſame,
and flow from ſympathy and an idea of
their utility. There is ſomething very inex-
plicable in this variation of our feelings ; but
'tis what we have experience of with regard
to all our paſſions and ſentiments,
hv.
g R T. AL
2 clefe of this book.
\HUS upon the whole 1 am hopeful, 8 EC T.
that nothing is wanting to an accu- IV.
rate ow of this ſyſtem of ethics. We are
certain, that ſympathy is a very powerful
er el in human nature, We are alſo
T 2 certain,
A Treatiſe of Human Mature.
Pa Rx certain, that it has a great influence on our
III.
DS,
Of the
ſenſe of beauty, when we regard external
objects, as well as when we judge of morals,
other vir- We find, that it has force ſufficient to give
Furs An
vices.
us the ſtrongeſt ſentiments of approbation,
when it operates alone, without the con-
currence of any other principle; as in the
caſes of juſtice, allegiance, chaſtity, and
good-manners. We may obſerve, that all
the circumſtances requiſite for its operation
are found in moſt of the virtues; which
have, for the moſt part, a tendency to the
good of ſociety, or to that of the perſon
poſſeſs d of them. If we compare all theſe
circumſtances, we ſhall not doubt, that ſym-
pathy is the chief ſource of moral diſtinctions;
eſpecially when we reflect, that no objection
can be rais'd againſt this hypotheſis in one
caſe, which will not extend to all caſes.
Juſtice is certainly approv'd of for no other
reaſon, than "becauſe it has a tendency to
the public good : And the public good is in-
different to us, except ſo far as ſympathy in-
tereſts us in it. We may preſume the like
with regard to all the other virtues, which
Have a like tendency to the public good, They
muſt derive all their merit from our. ſym-
pathy with thoſe, who reap any advantage
from them: As the virtues, which have a
1 Þ | tendency
Book III. Of Morals.
of them, derive their merit from our ſym-
pathy with-him: ,
uſeful qualities of the mind are virtuous, be-
cauſe of their utility. This way of think-
ing is ſo natural, and occurs on ſo many oc-
cafions, that few will make any ſcruple of
admitting it. Now this being once admit-
ted, the force of ſympathy muſt neceſſarily
be acknowledg d. Virtue is conſider'd as
means to an end. Means to an end are
only valued ſo far as the end is valued.
But the happineſs of ſtrangers affects us by
ſympathy alone. To that principle, there-
fore, we are to aſcribe the ſentiment of ap-
: probation, which ariſes from the ſurvey of
all thoſe virtues, that are uſeful to ſociety,
or to the perſon poſleſs'd of ther. Theſe
form the moſt conſiderable pare of mo-
rality.
Wrxx it proper in ſuch a ſubject to bribe
the readers aſſent, or employ any thing but
ſolid argument, we are here abundantly ſup-
plied with topics to engage the affections. -
All lovers of virtue (and ſuch we all are in
ſpeculation, however we may degenerate in
practice) muſt certainly be pleasd to ſee
TS © moral
.
tendency to the good of the perſon poſſeſs d 8 N 1 ets
— NIg
- Concluſion
MosT people will readily allow, that the 2 this
* « @ -.&
Td whit, BD YUM e
278
A Treatiſe of H uman Nature.
Pa R T moral diſtinctions deriv'd from fo noble a
III.
ſource, which gives us a juſt notion both of
A . be generofity and capacity of, hema nature.
furs a
vices.
7
Ads Calier
2
other _ It requires but very little knowledge of hu-
man affairs to perceive, that a ſenſe of mo-
rals is a principle inherent in the ſoul, and
one of the moſt powerful that enters into the
' compoſition. But this ſenſe muſt certainly
acquire new force, when reflecting on itſelf,
it approves of thoſe principles, from whence
it is deriv'd, and finds nothing but what is
great and good in its riſe and origin. Thoſe
who reſolve the ſenſe of morals into ori-
ginal inſtincts of the human mind, may de-
fend the cauſe of virtue with ſufficient autho-
rity; but want the advantage, which thoſe
poſſeſs, who account for that ſenſe by an
extenſive ſympathy with mankind. Accord-
ing to,thew ſyſtem, not only virtue muſt be
approv'd of, but alſo the ſenſe of virtue:
And not only that ſenſe, but alſo the prin-
ciples, from whence it is deriv'd, So that
nothing is preſented on any fide, but what is
laudable and good.
HIS obſervation may be extended to
jt and the other virtues of that kind.
juſtice be artificial, the ſenſe of its mo-
rality is natural. Tis the combination of
men, in a ſyſtem of conduct, which renders
£5 any
Book III. Of Morals. 279
any act of juſtice beneficial to ſociety. But 8 E r.
when once it has that tendency, we natu- VI.
—
rally approve of it; and if we did not ſo, Corctefor
tis impoſſible any combination or convention 5
cou'd ever produce that ſentiment. -
Mosr of the inventions of men are ſub-
je to change. They depend upon humour
and caprice. They have a vogue for a time,
and then fink into oblivion, It may, per-
haps, be apprehended, that if juſtice were
allow'd to be a human invention, it muſt be .
plac'd on the ſame footing. But the caſes
are widely different. The intereſt, on which
juſtice is founded, is the greateſt imaginable,
and extends to all times and places, It can-
not poſſibly be ſerv'd by any other inven-
tion, It is obvious, and diſcovers itſelf on
the very firſt formation of ſociety, All theſe
cauſes render the rules of juſtice ſtedfaſt and
immutable ; at leaſt, as immutable as human
nature. And if they were founded on ori-
ginal inſtincts, cou'd they have any greater
ſtability ? |
Tux ſame ſyſtem may help us to form a
juſt notion of the happineſs, as well as of
the dignity of virtue, and may intereſt eyery
principle of our nature in the embracing
and cheriſhing that noble quality. Who in-
| deed does not feel an acceſſion of alacrity in
| T 4 his
280
4 Treatiſe of Human Mature.
PART his purſuits of knowledge and ability of
III. every kind, when he conſiders, that beſides
LAY
QF the
the advantage, which immediately reſult
other vir. from theſe acquiſitions, they alſo give him a
tues and
Vvices,
new luſtre in the eyes of mankind, and are
univerſally attended with eſteem and appro-
bation? And who can think any advantages
of fortune a ſufficient compenſation for the
leaſt breach of the ſocial virtues, when he
_ conſiders, that not only his character with
regard to others, but alſo his peace and in-
ward ſatisfaction entirely depend upon his
ſtrict obſervance of them; and that a mind
will never be able to bear its own ſurvey,
that has been wanting in its part to man-
kind and ſociety ? But I forbear inſiſting on
this ſubje&. Such reflections require a work
a: part, very different from the genius of the
preſent. The anatomiſt ought never to emu-
late the painter; nor in his accurate diſ-
ſections and portraitures of the ſmaller parts
of the human body, pretend to give his
figures any graceful and engaging attitude or
expreſſion. There is even ſomething hideous,
or at leaſt minute in the views of things,
which he preſents; and tis neceſſary the ob-
jects ſhou'd be ſet more at a diſtance, and be
more cqver'd up from ſight, to make them
engaging to the eye and imagination, An
i 4 anatomiſt,
anatomiſt, however, is admirably fitted to 8 E c r.
give advice to a painter; and tis even im- VI.
practicable to excel in the latter art, with- Conclufon
out the aſſiſtance of the former. We muſt J 4.
have an exact knowledge of the parts, their .
ſituation and connexion, before we can de-
fign with any elegance or correctneſs. And.
thus the moſt abſtract ſpeculations concern-
ing human nature, however cold and un-
entertaining, become ſubſervient to practi-
cal morality ; and may render this latter ſci-
ence more correct in its precepts, and more
perſuaſive in its exhortations.
APPEN-
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5
ERE is nothing I wou'd more
8 0 TI willingly lay hold of, than an op-
portunity of confeſſing my errors;
and ſhou'd eſteem ſuch a return to truth and
reaſon to be more honourable than the moſt
unerring judgment. A man, who is free
from miſtakes, can pretend'to no praiſes, ex-
cept from the juſtneſs of his underſtanding :
But a man, who corre&s his miſtakes, ſhews
at once the juſtneſs of his underſtanding, and
the candour and ingenuity of his temper.
J have not yet been ſo fortunate as to diſ-
cover any very conſiderable miſtakes in the
reaſonings deliver d in the preceding volumes,
except on one article : But I have found by
experience, that ſome of my expreſſions have
not been ſo well choſen, as to guard againſt
all miſtakes in the readers; and 'tis' chiefly
to remedy this defect, I have OC the
following appendix.
We
AP PEN DT.
We can never be induc'd to believe any
matter of fact, except where its cauſe, or
. „e Her its effect, is preſent to us; but what the na-
Corte (onal ture is 2
that belief, which ariſes from the
relation of cauſe and effect, few have had the
curioſity to aſk themſelves. In my opinion,
this dilemma is inevitable. Either the belief
is ſome new idea, ſuch as that of reality
or exiſtence, which we join to the fimple
conception of an object, or it is merely a
peculiar feeling or ſentiment. That it is not
a new idea, annex'd to the ſimple con-
ception, may be evinc'd from theſe two ar-
guments. Fir, We have no abſtract idea
of exiſtence, diſtinguiſhable and ſeparable
from the idea of particular objects. Tis
impoſſible, therefore, that this idea of ex-
iſtence can be annex'd to the idea of any
object, or form the difference betwixt a ſim-
ple conception and belief. Secondly, The
mind has the command over all its ideas, and
can ſeparate, unite, mix, and vary them, as
it pleaſes; ſo that if belief conſiſted merely
in a new idea, annex d to the conception, it
ou'd be in a man's power to believe what
he pleas d. We may, therefore, conclude,
that belief conſiſts merely i in a certain feel-
ing or ſentiment; in ſomething, that de-
2 pends
—
—
P
pends not on the will, but muſt ariſe from
certain determinate cauſes and principles, of
which we are not maſters. When we are
convinc'd of any matter of fact, we do no-
thing but conceive it, along with a certain
feeling, different from what attends the mere
reveries of the imagination. And when we
expreſs our incredulity concerning any fac,
we mean, that the arguments for the fact
produce not that feeling. Did not the belief
285
conſiſt in a ſentiment different from our
mere conception, whatever objects were pre-
ſented by the wildeſt imagination, wou'd be
on an equal footing with the moſt eſtabliſh'd
truths founded on hiſtory and experience.
There is nothing but the feeling, or ſen-
timent, to diſtinguiſh the one from the
other. |
Tr1s, therefore, being regarded as an
undoubted truth, that belief is nothing but a
peculiar feeling, different from the ſimple con-
ception, the next queſtion, that naturally oc-
curs, is, what is the nature of this feeling,
or ſentiment, and whether it be analogous to
any other ſentiment of the human mind? This
queſtion is important. For if it be not ana-
logous to any other ſentiment, we muſt de-
ſpair of explaining its cauſes, and muſt con-
W
286
AP p E N DI.
mind. If it be analogous, we may hope to
explain its cauſes from analogy, and trace it
up to more general principles. Now that
there is a greater firmneſs and ſolidity in the
conceptions, which are the objects of con-
viction and aſſurance, than in the looſe and
indolent reveries of a caſtle- builder, every
one will readily own. They ſtrike upon us
with more force; they are more preſent to
us; the mind has a firmer hold of them,
and is more actuated and mov'd by them.
It acquieſces in them; and, in a manner,
fixes and repoſes itſelf on them. In ſhort,
they approach nearer to the impreſſions,
which are immediately preſent to us; and
are therefore analogous to many other opera-
tions of the mind.
THERE is not, in my opinion, any pofli-
bility of evading this concluſion, but by
aſſerting, that belief, beſide the ſimple con-
ception, conſiſts in ſome impreſſion or feel-
ing, diſtinguiſhable from the conception. It
does not modify the conception, and render
it more preſent and intenſe : It is only an-
nex d to it, after the ſame manner that wil
and defire are annex'd to particular con-
oo of good and pleaſure. But the fol-
lowing conſiderations will, I hope, be ſuffi-
Sent to remove this hypotheſis Firſt, It is
directly
ern
directly contrary to experience, and our im-
mediate conſciouſneſs. All men have ever
allow d reaſoning to be merely an operation
of our thoughts or ideas; and however thoſe
ideas may be varied to the feeling, there is
nothing ever enters into our concluſions but
ideas, or our fainter conceptions. For in-
ſtance; I. hear at preſent a perſon's voice,
whom I am acquainted with ; and this ſound
comes from the next room. This impreſſion
287
of my ſenſes immediately conveys my
thoughts to the perſon, along with all the
ſurrounding objects. I paint them out to
myſelf as exiſtent at preſent, with the ſame
qualities and relations, that I formerly knew
them poſſeſs d of. Theſe ideas take faſter
hold of my mind, than the ideas of an in-
chanted caſtle. They are different to the
feeling; but there is no diſtinct or ſeparate
impreſſion attending them. Tis the ſame
caſe when I recolle& the ſeveral incidents of
a journey, or the events of any hiſtory.
Every particular fact is there the object of
belief. Its idea is modified differently from
the looſe reveries of a caſtle-builder : But
no diſtin& impreſſion attends every diſtinct
idea, or conception of matter of fact. This
is the ſubject of plain experience. If ever
this experience can be diſputed on any o-
caſion,
: 288
4 PP E N DI
caſion, tis when the mind has been agitated
with doubts and difficulties; and afterwards,
upon taking the object in a new point of
view, or being preſented with a new argu-
ment, fixes and repoſes itſelf in one ſettled
concluſion and belief. In this caſe there is
a feeling diſtinct and ſeparate from the con-
ception. The paſſage from doubt and agi-
tation to tranquility and repoſe, conveys a
ſatisfaction and pleaſure to the mind. But
take any other caſe. Suppoſe I ſee the legs
and thighs of a perſon in motion, while
ſome interpos d object conceals the reſt of
bis body. Here tis certain, the imagination
ſpreads out the whole figure. I give him a
; bead and ſhoulders, and breaſt and neck.
Theſe members I conceive and believe him
to be poſſeſs d of. Nothing can be more
evident, than that this whole operation is
perform'd by the thought or imagination
alone. The tranſition is immediate. The
ideas preſently ſtrike us. Their cuſtomary
connexion with the preſent impreſſion, varies
them and modifies them in a certain manner,
but produces no act of the mind, diſtinct
from this peculiarity of conception, Let
any one examine his own mind, and he will
evidently find this to be the truth,
Secondly,
An
1 Whatever may be the * with 1
regard to this diſtinct impreſſion, it muſt be
allow d, that the mind has a firmer hold, or
more ſteady conception of what it takes to
be matter of fact, than of fictions. Why
then look any farther, or multiply ſuppo- |
ſitions without neceſſity ?
Thirdly, We can explain the cauſes of
the firm conception, but not thoſe of any
ſeparate impreſſion, And not only fo, but
the cauſes of the firm conception exhauſt
the whole ſubject, and nothing is left to
produce any other effect. An inference con-
cerning a matter of fact is nothing but the
idea of an object, that, +» frequently con-
join d, or is aſſociated with a preſent im-
preſſion, This is the whole of it. Every
part is requiſite to explain, from analogy, the
more ſteady conception; and nothing re-
mains capable of producing any diſtinct im-
preſſion.
Fourthly, The efe&s of belief, in in-
fluencing the paſſions and imagination, can
all- be. explain d from the firm conception;
and there is no occaſion to have recourſe to
any other principle, Theſe arguments, with
many others, enumerated in the foregoing
volumes, ſufficiently prove, that belief only
modifies the idea or conception ; and renders
I III, v it
H. been.
en
290 AP P E NDIZX.
itt different to the feeling, without producing
any diſtin impreſſion.
Tuvs upon a general view of the ſub-
jet; there appear to be two queſtions of
importance, which we may venture to re-
commend to the conſideration of philoſo-
phers, Whether there be any thing to diſtin-
guiſh belief from the fimple conception befide
the feeling or ſentiment ? And, Whether this
feeling be any thing but a firmer conception,
or a faſter hold, that wwe take of the object?
Ir, upon impartial enquiry, the ſame con-
Hubon, that I have form'd, be affented to
by philoſophers, the next buſineſs is to ex-
| amine the anatogy, which there is betwixt
delief, and ether acts of the mind, and find
the cauſe of the firmneſs and ſtrength of
conception: And this J do not eſteem a
difficult taſk. The tranfition from a pre-
ſent impreſſion, always enlivens and ſtrength-
ens any idea. When any object is preſented,
the idea of its uſual attendant immediately
ſtrikes us, as ſomething real and ſolid. Tis
felt, rather than conceiv'd, and approaches
the impreſſion, from which it is deriv'd, in
its force and influence. This I have prov'd
at large. 1 cannot add any new arguments;
tho' perhaps my reaſoning on this whole
9 concerning cauſe and effect, wou d
have
1
1 — 1
AENA
have been more convideing, had the b |
ing paſſages been inſerted in the places,
which I have mark d for them. I baue ad-
dd a few illuſtrations on other pointe, where
1 e it neceſſary. 15
To be inſerted i in vol. I. page 1 53. line 12.
after theſe -words (fainter and more ob-
ſcute.) beginning a new paragraph. .
201
Ir frequently happens, that when two
men have been engag'd in any ſcene of ac-
tion, the one ſhall remember it much better
than the other, and ſhall have all the diff-
culty in the world to make his companion
recolle& it. He runs over ſeveral circum-
ſtances in vain; mentions the time, the place,
the company, what was ſaid, what was
done on all fides ; till at laſt he hits on ſome
lucky circumſtance, that revives the whole,
and gives his friend a perfect memory of
every thing. Here the perſon that forgets
receives at firſt all the ideas from the diſ-
courſe of the other, with the ſame circum.
ſtances of time and place; tho he conſiders
them as mere fiftions of the imagination,
But as ſoon: as the circumſtance is mention'd,
that touches the memory, the very fame
ideas n in a new light, and have,
U 2 OM.
292
4 PEN DI
in a manner, a different feeling from what
they had before. Without any other alter-
ation, beſide that of the feeling, they become
. immediately. ideas of the m and are
aſſented to.
SINCE, therefore, the imagination can re-
preſent all the ſame oꝶjects that the memory
can offer to us, and fince thoſe faculties arc
only diſtinguiſh d by the different feeling of
the ideas they preſent, it may be proper to
conſider what is the nature of that feeling.
And here I believe every one will readily
agree with me, that the ideas of the me-
mory are more rung and lively than thoſe
of the fancy. A painter, who intended, &c.
To be inſerted Vol: I. page 174. line 8. after
_ theſe words. (according to the foregoing
| definition.) mne a new YE.
T HIS operation of the. aides: which
forms the belief of any matter of fact, ſeems
| hitherto. to have been one of the: greateſt
myſteries of philoſophy; tho no one has ſo
much as ſuſpected, that there was any diffi-
culty in explaining it. For my part I muſt
own, that I find à conſiderable difficulty in
the caſe; and that even when I think 1
underſtand the work perfectly, I am at a
4 * loſs
APPENDIX.
loſs for terms to expreſs my meaning. I
conclude, by an induction which ſeems to
me very evident, that an opinion or belief is
nothing but an idea, that is different from a
fion, not in. the nature, or the order of
its parts, but in the manner of its being con-
ceiv d. But when I wou'd explain this man-
ner, I ſcarce find any word that fully an-
ſwers the caſe, but am oblig'd to 2 re-
courſe to every one's feeling, in order to give
him a perfect notion of this operation of the
mind. An idea aſſented to feels different
from a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone
preſents to us: And this different feeling I
endeavour to explain by calling it a ſuperior
force, or vivacity, or ſolidity, or firmneſs, or
ſteadineſi. This variety of terms, which may
ſeem ſo unphiloſophical, is intended only to
expreſs that act of the mind, which renders
realities more preſent to us than fictions,
cauſes them to weigh more in the thought,
and gives them a ſuperior influence on the
paſſions and imagination. Provided we agree
about the thing, tis needleſs to diſpute about
the terms. The imagination has the com-
mand over all its ideas, and can join, and mix,
and vary them in all the ways poſlible. It |
may conceive. objects with all the circum-
ſtances of place and time. It may ſet them,
1 in
„ :, ”
* =
>
"APPENDIX.
in a manner, before our eyes in their true
colours, juſt as they ,might have exiſted,
But as it is impoſſible,” that that faculty can
ever, of itſelf, reach belief, tis evident, that
belief confiſts not in the nature and order of
our ideas, but in the manner of their con-
ception, and in their feeling to the mind,
I confeſs, that tis impoſſible to explain per-
fectly this feeling or manner of conception,
We may make uſe of words, that expreſs
ſomething near it. But its true and proper
name is belief, which is a term that every
one ſufficiently underſtands in common life.
And in philoſophy we can go no farther,
than aſſert, that it is ſomething et by the
mind, which diſtinguiſhes the ideas of the
judgment from -the fictions of the imagina-
tion, It gives them more force and influ-
ence ; makes them appear of greater im-
portance ; infixes them in the mind; and
xenders them the governing principles of all
our actions.
A note to Vol. I, page 179. line 19, after
e ee
Naturane nobis, inguit, datum dicam, an
errore quodam, ut, cum ea hca videamus, in
gubus memorig dignus piros acceperimus mul-
Sed „„ „ DE. So. BEV. ö .
dh)
ml
WR
4 P EN DI
aut ſeriptum aliquod legumus? velut ego nunc
moveor. Venit enim mihi Platonis in mentem :
quem accipimus primum bic diſputare folitum :
Cujus etiam illi hortuli propingui non memo-
riam ſolim mihi afferunt, ſed ipſum videntur
in conſpettu. meo bic ponere. Hir Speuſſppus,
hic Xenocrates, hic ejus auditor Polemo ; cujus
ipſa illa ſeſſia fuit, quam videamus. Equi-
dem etiam curiam noſtram, hoſtiliam dico,
non hanc novam, que mihi minor eſſe videtur
polguam eft major, ſolebam intuens Scipio-
nem, Catonem, Lelium, noſtrum vero in primis
avum cogitare, Tanta vis admonitionis ineft
in hcis ; ut non fine cauſa ex his memorie
dufta fit diſciplina. Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.
To be inſerted in Vol. I. page 218. line 21.
after theſe words (impreſſions of the ſenſes.)
beginning a new paragraph.
Wu may obſerve the ſame effect of poe-
try in a leſſer degree; and this is common
both to poetry and madneſs, that the vivacity
they beſtow on the ideas is not deriv'd from
the particular ſituations or connexions of the
objects of theſe ideas, but from the preſent
temper and diſpoſition of the perſon. But
„„ - 08
295
tum eſſe ver ſatos, magis moveamur, quam
fiquando eorum ipſorum aut fat#a audiamus,
*
2960
APPENDIX
how great ſoever the pitch may be, ta which
this vivacity riſes tis evident, that in poetry
it never has the fame. feeling with that
which ariſes in the mind, ben we reaſon,
| tho even upon the loweſt ſpecies of proba.
bility. The mind can eafily diſtinguiſh be-
twixt the one and the other; and whatever
emotion the poetical enthuſiaſm may give to
the ſpirits, tis ſtill the mere phantom of
belief or perſuaſion. The caſe is the ſame
with the idea, as with the paſſion it occa-
ſions. There is no paſſion of the human
mind but what may ariſe from poetry; tho
at the ſame time the feelings of the paſſions
are very different when excited by poetical
fictions, from what they are when they ariſe
from belief and reality. A paſſion, which
1s diſagrecable in real life, may afford the
higheſt entertainment in a tragedy, or epic
poem. In the latter caſe i it lies not with _
And has no othes than the agrecable ſec
of exciting the ſpirits, and rouzing the at-
tention. The di ference in the paſſions is a
clear proof of a like difference i in thoſe. ideas,
from which the paſſions are deriv d. Where
- the viyacity ariſes from a cuſtomary con-
junction with a preſent impreſſion ; tho' the
e may % in Pegrapee, be ſo
muc
1.40
A P. P E 1 X. 293
much mov'd; yet there is always ſomething
more forcible and real in its actions, than in
the feryors of poetry and eloquence. Tia
force of our mental actions in this caſe, no
more. than in any other, is not to be mea-
far by the apparent agitation of the mind,
A poetical deſcription may have a more ſen-
fible effect on the fancy, than an hiſtorical |
narration. It may colle& more of thoſe cir-
cumſtances, that form a compleat image or
picture. It may ſeem to ſet the object be-
fore us in more lively colours. But till the
ideas it preſents are different to 'the feeling
from thoſe, which ariſe from the memary
and the judgment. There is ſomething weak
and imperfe& amidſt all that ſeeming vehe-
mence of thought and {entiment, which at-
tends the fictions of poetry. A
| We ſhall afterwards have occaſion to re- f
mark both the reſemblances and differences |
betwixt a poetical enthuſiaſm, and a ſerious
conviction. In the mean time I cannot for-
bear obſerving, that the great difference in
their feeling proceeds in ſome meaſure from "
reffection and general rules. We obſerve, _ - ,
that the vigour of conception, which fictions . |
receive from poetry and eloquence, is a cir-
cumſtance merely accidental, of which every
idea 18 equally ſuſceptible ; z and that ſuch
—
298
'- SoME have aſſerted, that we feel an
* energy, or power, in our own mind; and
APPENDIX.
| fictiong are connected with nothing that is
real. This obſervation makes us only lend
| ourſelves, fo to ſpeak, to the fiction: But
cauſes the idea to feel very different from the
eternal eſtabliſh'd perſuaſions founded on
memory and cuſtom. They are ſomewhat -
of the ſame kind : But the one is much in-
ferior to the other, both in its cauſes and
effects.
A L1kE reflection on general rules keeps
us from augmenting our belief upon every
encreaſe of the force and vivacity of our ideas.
Where an opinion admits of no doubt, or
oppoſite probability, we attribute to it a full
conviction; tho' the want of reſemblance,
or contiguity, may render its force inferior
to that of other opinions. Tis thus the
underſtanding corrects the appearances of the
ſenſes, and makes us imagine, that an object
at twenty foot diſtance ſeems even to the
eye as large as one of the ſame dimenſions
at ten.
. To be inſerted in Vol. 1. page 282. line ult,
after theſe words (any idea of power.) be-
8¹ inning a new paragrapb.
(
that
OW *
ver jt, The motions of our body, and the
PF
that having in this manner acquir'd the idea
of power, we transfer that quality to matter,
where we are not able immediately to diſcs
thoughts and ſentiments of our mind, (ſay
they) obey the will; nor do we ſeek any far-
ther to acquire a juſt notion of force or power.
But to convince us how fallacious this rea-
ſoning is, we need only conſider, that the
will being here conſider d as a cauſe, has no
more a diſcoverable connexion with its effects,
than any material cauſe has with its proper
effect. So far from perceivi ng the connexion
| betwixt an act of volition, and a motion of
the body; tis allow'd that no effect is more
inexplicable from the powers and eſſence of
thought and matter. Nor is the empire of
the will over our mind more intelligible.
The effect is there diſtinguiſhable and ſepa-
rable from the cauſe, and cou'd not be fore-
ſeen without the experience of their conſtant
conjunction. We have command over our
mind to à certain degree, but beyond tbat
loſe all empire over it: And 'tis evidently
impoſſible to fix any preciſe bounds to our
authority, where we conſult not experience.
In ſhort, the actions of the mind are, in this
teſpect pect, the ſame with thoſe of matter. We
perecive ny their een conjunction; nor
I | 0 al ] :
300
by
APPENDIX
can we ever reaſon beyond it. No internal
impreſſion has an apparent energy, more
than external objects have. Since, therefore,
matter is confeſs d by philoſophers to operate
an unknown force, we ſhou'd in vain
hope to attain an idea of force by conſulting
our own minds. |
# .
HAD entertain'd ſome hopes, that how-
ever deficient our theory of the intellectual
world might be, it wou'd be free from thoſe
contradictians, and abſurdities, which ſeem to
attend every explication, that human reaſon
can give of the material world. But upon
a more ſtrict review of the ſection concern-
ing perſonal identity, I find myſelf involy'd in
ſuch a labyrinth, that, I muſt confeſs, I
neither know how to correct my former
opinions, nor how to render them conſiſtent. -
If this be not a good general reaſon for
ſcepticiſm, tis at leaſt a ſufficient one (if I
were not already abundantly ſupplied) for
me to entertain a diffidence and modeſty in
3% 03:30 all
The ſame imperfection attends our ideas of the Ng.
but this can have no effect either on religion or morals.
order of the univerſe proves an omnipotent mind; that is, a
mind whoſe will is conflantly attended with the obedience of
every creature and being. Nothing more is requiſite to give
a foundation to all the articles of religion, nor is it neceſſary
we ſhou d form a diſtinct idea of the force and energy of the
ſupreme Being,
1 EN DIT
all my deciſions. I ſhall propoſe the argu- |
ments on both fides, beginning with thoſe
that induc'd me to deny the ſttict and pro-
per _— and ſimplicity of a ſelf or 0
ing being.
Wurd we talk of E or fab: we
muſt have an idea annex*d to theſe terms,
otherwiſe they are altogether unintelli pible:
301
Every idea is derivd from preceding „ |
preſſions; and we have no impreſſion of {elf
or ſubſtance, as ſomething fimple and in-
dividual. We have, therefore, no 1. *
them in that ſenſe.
WHraTEveR is diſtinct; is Aſinguilh
able; and whatever is diſtinguiſhable, is ſe-
parable by the thought or imagination. All
perceptions are diſtinct. They are, therefore,
diſtinguiſhable, and ſeparable, and may be
conceiv'd as ſeparately . exiſtent, and may
_ exiſt ſeparately, without any ee or
abſurdity.
Wurd I é view this table and 10 An-
ney, nothing is preſent to me but parti-
cular perceptions, which are of a like na-
ture with all the other perceptions. This is
the doctrine of philoſophers. But this ta-
ble, which is preſent to me, and that chim-
ney, may and do exiſt ſeparately. This is
the doctrine of the vulgar, and implies no
contradiction. T here is no contradiction,
therefore,
302
all the
a
therefore, in extending the fame doctrine tc to
perceptions, |
In general, the following rexfoging des
fatisfactory. All ideas are borrow'd from
preceding perceptions. Our ideas of objects,
therefore, are deriv'd from that fource, Con-
ſequently no propoſition can be intelligible
or conſiſtent with regard to objects, which
is not ſo with regard to perceptions. But
tis intelligible and confiſtent to ſay, that
objects exiſt diſtinct and independent, with-
out any common /mple ſubſtance or ſubject
of inheſion. This propoſition, therefore,
can never be abſurd n __ to _ -
de N
Wren I turn my eee! on * I
never can perceive this ef without ſome
one or more perceptions ; nor can I ever per-
ceive any thing but the perceptions. Tis
the compoſition of theſt, therefore, which
forms the ſelf.
Wr can conceive a thinking bling to hive
either many or few perceptions. © Suppoſe
the mind to be reduc d even below the life
of an oyſter. Suppoſe it to have only one
perception, as of thirſt or hunger. Conſider
it in that ſituation. Do you conceive any
thing but merely that perception ? Have you
any notion of Wl or LR” ?. = not, the
| addition
APPENDIX.
you that notion.
Tux annihilation, which ſome people
ſuppoſe to follow upon death, and which
entirely deſtroys this ſelf, is nothing but an
extinction of all particular perceptions ; love
303
addition of other perceptions can never give ;
and hatred, pain and pleaſure, thought and
| ſenſation. Theſe therefore muſt be the ſame
with ſelf; ſince the one cannot ſurvive the
other.
Is eff the fame with ſubſtance ? If it be,
'- how can that queſtion have place, concern-
ing the ſubſiſtence of ſelf, under a change of
ſubſtance ? If they be diſtinct, what is the
difference betwixt them? For my part, I
have a notion of neither, when conceiy'd
diſtinct from particular perceptions,
Pr1LoSOPHERS begin to be reconcil'd to
the principle, that we have no idea of exter-
nal ſubſtance, diſtinct from the ideas of par-
ticular qualities. This muſt pave the way
for a like principle. with regard to the mind,
that we have no notion of it, diſtinct from
the particular perception.
' So far I ſeem to be attended with ſuffi-
cient evidence, But having thus looſen'd all
our particular perceptions, when * I proceed
to ex oa the princi wy oe connexion, which
| © {ings
« Vol. I. page 452.
. \ . ,
*
* a .
* —
.
304
2 E V D IK.
| binds them together, and makes us atribuc
to them a real ſimplicity and een 1 ;
am &nlible, that my account is very de-
fective, and that nothing but the echine
evidence of the ptecedent reaſonings cou d
have induc d me to receive it. If perceptions
are diſtinct exiſtences, they form a whole
only by being connected together. But no
connexions among diſtinct exiſtences are
ever diſcoverable by human underſtanding.
We only feel a connexion or, determination
of the thought, to- paſs 1 from one object to
another, It follows, therefore, that the
thought alone finds perſonal identity, when
reflecting on the train of paſt perceptions,
that compoſe a mind, the ideas of them are
felt to be connected together, and naturally
introduce each other. However extraordi-
nary this concluſion may ſeem, it need not
ſurptize us. Moſt philoſophers ſeem inclin'd
to think, that — — identity ariſes from
Su et; and conſciouſneſs is nothing
but à reflected thogght or perception. The
preſent philoſophy, „therefore, has fo far a
promiſing aſpect. But all my hopes vaniſh,
when I come to explain the principles, that
unite our ſucceſlive perceptions in our thought
or conſciouſneſs. I cannot diſcover any theory,
| which gives me ſatisfaction on * head.
IN
„
——_— =_— 4 bt /
*
4 4
_
2
r £0 tata
42S FFEMD FX.
I ſhort there are two principles, which
cannot render conſiſtent; nor is it in my
30g
power to renounce either of them, viz; bat
all aur diſtinct perceptions” are di 22 exit
ences;' and that tbe mind never perceives any
real confiexion among diſtinct exiſtences. Did
our perceptions either inhere in n
ſimple and individual, ot did the mind per-
ceive ſotne real connexion among them, there
wou d be no difficulty in the caſe. For my
part, I muſt plead the privilege of a ſceptic,
and confeſs, that this dificulty is too hard for
my underſtanding. I pretend not, how-
ever, to ptonounce it abſolutely inſu perable.
Others, perhaps, or myſelf, upon more ma-
ture reflection, may diſcover ſome hypo-
theſis, that * reconcile thoſe contra-
dictions.
I $HALL, 6 3 this apportavity of |
confeſſing two other errors of leſs import-
cover dito me in my reaſoning. The firſt
may be found in Vol. I. page 107. where I
ſay, that the diſtance betwixt two bodies is
known, among other things, by the angles,
which the rays of light flowing from the
bodies make with each other. Tis certain,
that theſe angles are not known to the mind,
and conſequently can never diſcover the
Von., III. « diſtance.
ace which more mature reflection has diſ- 5
\
ent by their different d
AEN DTA
diſtance. The ſecond error may be found in
Vol. I. page 171. where I ſay, that two
ideas of the ſame object can only be differ-
degrees of force and
vivacity. I believe there are other differences
among ideas, which cannot properly be com-
prehended under theſe terms. Had I ſaid,
that two ideas of the ſame object can only
be different by their different en I
ſhou d have been nearer the truth.
TuERRE are two errors of the wry which
affect the ſenſe, and therefore. the reader is
- defir'd to corre& them. In Vol. I. page 332.
line penult. for as the perception read a per-
ception. In Vol. 7 P- 447. has $a 55
moral read natural, 43 458115
1
; 72 — *
111 , Fi 19119 gh : ?
3 note to vol I. page 43. Line LA to *
33 0 5 | uord (elemblance)
—
verb tt Th
or” is alent; that n [diffeient/fmple
ideas may haye a ſimilarity or reſemblance to
each other; nor is it neceſſury that the
point or circumſtance of reſemblance ſhau'd
be diſtinct or ſeparable from that in which
they. differ. Blue and green are different
ſimple ideas, but are more reſembling than
/ Blue and ſcarlet; tho their perfect ſimpli -
"we nad all — of
ſeparation or
Acting.
112772
diſtinction.
APPEND PX:
Tis the ſame caſe with x
cular ſounds, and taſtes and ſmells, Theſe
admit of infinite reſemblances upon the ge-
*
*
13
neral appearance and compariſon, without
having any common circumſtance the ſame.
And of this we may be certain, even from
the very abſtract terms fimple idea.
Theſe reſemble each other in their ſimplicity.
And yet from their very nature, which ex-
cludes all compoſition, this circumſtance, in
which they reſemble, is not diſtinguiſhable
nor ſe from the reſt. Tis the ſame
caſe with all the degrees in any quality.
They are all reſembling, and yet the quality,
They
comprehend all fimple ideas under them.
in any individual, is not diſtin& from the
degree.
be inſerted in Vol. I page 88. line 19.
| 5 theſe words (of the preſent Oy )
nee
Tak Rx are many philoſophers, who re-
fuſe to aflign any ſtandard of equality, but
aſſert, that tis ſufficient to preſent two ob-
jets, that are equal, in order to give us a
juſt notion of this proportion. All defini-
tions, ſay they, are fruitleſs, without the
e ren of ſuch objects; ; and where we
LEG, X 2 perceive OLE
: _ fuck ſubtile in
4 P. Pig! IV 5 TY
den ſuch objects, we no Wage nd i in
ed of any definition. To this reaſoning
1 1 agree; and aſſert, that the 924 |
uſeful notion of equality, or inequality;* is
deriw'd from the whole united appearance
and the compariſon of particular objects.
125 een hat the eyes Wes r
To 15 e in Vol. af) page 97- "Line 22.
After theſe words ( prafticable | or imagi-
1 beginning 4 new paragraph:
TO Whatever ade mathematicians turn,
thi dilemma ſtill meets them. If they judge
of equality, or any other proportion, by the
accurate and exact ſtandard, viz." the enu-
meration of the minute indiviſible parts,
they both employ a ſtandard, which is uſe-
leſs in practice, and actually eſtabliſh the in-
diviſibility of extenſion, which they endea-
vour to explode. Or if they employ, as is
uſual, the inaccurate ſtandard, deriv'd from
a compariſon! of objects, upon their general
appearance, corrected by meafuting and juxta
poſition; their firſt principles, tho” certain
and infallible, are too coarſe to afford: any
inferences as they commonly
e e le |
ee 1885 kor cl mer
95
en
4 : 418 3
1 00 10 Vol. I. . Ine 8. 1
. 15 words (impreflions and ns.)
As long as we Dis our Cairn to
40 appearances of objects to our ſenſes, with-
out entering into diſquiſitions concerning their
real nature and operations, we are ſafe from
all difficulties, and can never be embarraſs d
4
by any queſtion, | Thus, if it be aſk'd, if the
inviſible and "intangible diſtance, interpos 'd
thing: Tis eaſy to anſwer, that it is ſome
_ thing, viz. a property of the objects, which
betwixt two objects, be ſomething or no-
affect the ſenſes after ſuch a particular man-
ner. If it be aſk' d, whether two objects, |
having ſuch a diſtance betwixt them, touch
or not: It may be anſwer'd, that this de- ;
pends upon the definition of the word, touch,
If objects be faid to touch, when there is
nothing ſenſible interpos d betwixt them,
theſe objects touch If objects be ſaid 0
touch, when their . ſtrike contiguous
parts of the eye, and when the hand feel
both objects ſucceſſively, without any inter-
pos d motion, theſe objects do not touch.
4 , N # _
The appearances of objects to our ſenſes are
*S& - EIN ITE So EP e 90 *
0 i 7 N 1 £ 1 2 ir . 1, * 4
a PILE
* Aa
„
mm conſiſtent; and no difficulties can ever
| pearances. of objects to the ſenſes, I. am
full of ſcepticiſm. and uncertainty. Thus
. poſition of bodies is unknown. Wes ate
G
F if
on 4 . x
# *
. ; 7 1 9 f *
N $ N y /
«YA &- * | a ” To : g S
ariſe, but- from * eee een,
ee eee 4
afraid, that moſt of our concluſions will he
if it be aſtd, whether or not the inviſible
and intangible diſtance be always full of body;
or of ſomething that by an improvement of
our organs might become viſible or tangible,
I. muſt acknowledge, that I find no very de-
ciſive arguments on either ſide; tho I am
inclin d to the contrary opinion, as being
more ſuitable to vulgar and popular notions.
If the Newtonian philoſophy be rightly un-
derſtood, it will be found to mean no more.
A vacuum is, aſſerted: That is, bodies are
bad to be.plac'd after ſuch a manner, as to
receive bodies betwixt them, without impul
fon or penetration. The real nature of this
only acquainted with its effects on the feniſes,
and its power of receiving body. Nothing
is more ſuitable to that philoſophy, than a
modeſt ſcepticiſm to a certain degree, and a
fair confeſſion of nee by Pons thes
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